S.  EDWIN  CORLE.  JR. 

HIS  BOOK         


The  Dream  Doctor 


It  was  Mrs.  Brainard,  tall,  almost  imperial  in  her  loose  morning  gown, 
her  dark  eyes  snapping  fire  at  the  sudden  intrusion. 


THE  CRAIG  KENNEDY  5ERIE5 


THE 

DREAM  DOCTOR 

ARTHUR  D.KEEVE 

FRONTISPIECE  BY 
WILL  FOSTER 


HARPER,  $  BROTHERS-  PUBLISHERS 

MEW     YORK     AND    LONDON 


THE  DREAM  DOCTOR 

Copyright,  1913,  1914.  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  The  Dream  Doctor 9 

II  The  Soul  Analysis 27 

III  The  Sybarite 44 

IV  The  Beauty  Shop 60 

V  The  Phantom  Circuit     .......  77 

VI  The  Detectaphone 90 

VII  The  Green  Curse 104 

VIII  The  Mummy  Case 120 

IX  The  Elixir  of  Life 134 

X  The  Toxin  of  Death 151 

XI  The  Opium  Joint 166 

XII  The  "Dope  Trust" 183 

XIII  The  Kleptomaniac 191 

XIV  The  Crimeometer 208 

XV  The  Vampire        227 

XVI  The  Blood  Test 242 

XVII  The  Bomb  Maker 252 

XVIII  The  "Coke"  Fiend 266 

XIX  The  Submarine  Mystery 283 

XX  The  Wireless  Detector 299 

XXI  The  Ghouls 316 

XXII  The  X-Ray  "Movies" 333 

XXIII  The  Death  House 349 

XXIV  The  Final  Day 365 


2037939 


The  Dream  Doctor 


The  Dream   Doctor 
i 

The  Dream  Doctor 

' '  TAME  SON,  I  want  you  to  get  the  real  story 

tJ  about  that  friend  of  yours,  Professor  Ken- 
nedy," announced  the  managing  editor  of  the  Star, 
early  one  afternoon  when  I  had  been  summoned  into 
the  sanctum. 

From  a  batch  of  letters  that  had  accumulated  in 
the  litter  on  the  top  of  his  desk,  he  selected  one  and 
glanced  over  it  hurriedly. 

"For  instance,"  he  went  on  reflectively,  "here's  a 
letter  from  a  Constant  Reader  who  asks,  'Is  this  Pro- 
fessor Craig  Kennedy  really  all  that  you  say  he  is, 
and,  if  so,  how  can  I  find  out  about  his  new  scientific 
detective  method?' " 

He  paused  and  tipped  back  his  chair. 

"Now,  I  don't  want  to  file  these  letters  in  the  waste 
basket.  When  people  write  letters  to  a  newspaper, 
it  means  something.  I  might  reply,  in  this  case,  that 
he  is  as  real  as  science,  as  real  as  the  fight  of  society 
against  the  criminal.  But  I  want  to  do  more  than 
that." 

The  editor  had  risen,  as  if  shaking  himself  mo- 


10  The  Dream  Doctor 

mentarily  loose  from  the  ordinary  routine  of  the  of- 
fice. 

"You  get  me?"  he  went  on,  enthusiastically.  "In 
other  words,  your  assignment,  Jameson,  for  the  next 
month  is  to  do  nothing  except  follow  your  friend  Ken- 
nedy. Start  in  right  now,  on  the  first,  and  cross-sec- 
tion out  of  his  life  just  one  month,  an  average  month. 
Take  things  just  as  they  come,  set  them  down  just 
as  they  happen,  and  when  you  get  through  give  me  an 
intimate  picture  of  the  man  and  his  work." 

He  picked  up  the  schedule  for  the  day  and  I  knew 
that  the  interview  was  at  an  end.  I  was  to  "get" 
Kennedy. 

Often  I  had  written  snatches  of  Craig's  adventures, 
but  never  before  anything  as  ambitious  as  this  as- 
signment, for  a  whole  month.  At  first  it  staggered 
me.  But  the  more  I  thought  about  it,  the  better  I 
liked  it. 

I  hastened  uptown  to  the  apartment  on  the  Heights 
which  Kennedy  and  I  had  occupied  for  some  time. 
I  say  we  occupied  it.  We  did  so  during  those  hours 
when  he  was  not  at  his  laboratory  at  the  Chemistry 
Building  on  the  University  campus,  or  working  on 
one  of  those  cases  which  fascinated  him.  Fortu- 
nately, he  happened  to  be  there  as  I  burst  in  upon 
him. 

"Well?"  he  queried  absently,  looking  up  from  a 
book,  one  of  the  latest  untranslated  treatises  on  the 
new  psychology  from  the  pen  of  the  eminent  scientist, 
Dr.  Freud  of  Vienna,  "what  brings  you  uptown  so 
early?" 

Briefly  as  I  could,  I  explained  to  him  what  it  was 


The  Dream  Doctor  11 

that  I  proposed  to  do.  He  listened  without  comment 
and  I  rattled  on,  determined  not  to  allow  him  to  nega- 
tive it. 

"And,"  I  added,  warming  up  to  the  subject,  "I 
think  I  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  the  managing 
editor.  He  has  crystallised  in  my  mind  an  idea  that 
has  long  been  latent.  Why,  Craig,"  I  went  on,  "that 
is  exactly  what  you  want — to  show  people  how  they 
can  never  hope  to  beat  the  modern  scientific  detec- 
tive, to  show  that  the  crime-hunters  have  gone  ahead 
faster  even  than — " 

The  telephone  tinkled  insistently. 

Without  a  word,  Kennedy  motioned  to  me  to  "lis- 
ten in"  on  the  extension  on  my  desk,  which  he  had 
had  placed  there  as  a  precaution  so  that  I  could  cor- 
roborate any  conversation  that  took  place  over  our 
wire. 

His  action  was  quite  enough  to  indicate  to  me  that, 
at  least,  he  had  no  objection  to  the  plan. 

"This  is  Dr.  Leslie — the  coroner.  Can  you  come 
to  the  Municipal  Hospital — right  away?" 

"Eight  away,  Doctor,"  answered  Craig,  hanging  up 
the  receiver.  "Walter,  you'll  come,  too?" 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  we  were  in  the  court- 
yard of  the  city's  largest  hospital.  In  the  balmy  sun- 
shine the  convalescing  patients  were  sitting  on 
benches  or  slowly  trying  their  strength,  walking  over 
the  grass,  clad  in  faded  hospital  bathrobes. 

We  entered  the  office  and  quickly  were  conducted 
by  an  orderly  to  a  little  laboratory  in  a  distant  wing. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Craig,  as  we  hurried 
along. 


12  The  Dream  jjoctor 

"I  don't  know  exactly/'  replied  the  man,  "except 
that  it  seems  that  Price  Maitland,  the  broker,  you 
know,  was  picked  up  on  the  street  and  brought  here 
dying.  He  died  before  the  doctors  could  relieve 
him." 

Dr.  Leslie  was  waiting  impatiently  for  us.  "What 
do  you  make  of  that,  Professor  Kennedy?" 

The  coroner  spread  out  on  the  table  before  us  a 
folded  half-sheet  of  typewriting  and  searched  Craig's 
face  eagerly  to  see  what  impression  it  made  on  him. 

"We  found  it  stuffed  in  Maitland's  outside  coat 
pocket,"  he  explained. 

It  was  dateless  and  brief: 

Dearest  Madeline: 

May  God  in  "his  mercy  forgive  me  for  what  I  am  about  to  do. 
I  have  just  seen  Dr.  Ross.  He  has  told  me  the  nature  of  your 
illness.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  that  I  am  the  cause,  so  I  am 
going  simply  to  drop  out  of  your  life.  I  cannot  live  with  you, 
and  I  cannot  live  without  you.  Do  not  blame  me.  Always  think 
the  best  you  can  of  me,  even  if  you  could  not  give  me  all. 
Good-bye, 

Your  distracted  husband, 

PBICE. 

At  once  the  idea  flashed  over  me  that  Maitland  had 
found  himself  suffering  from  some  incurable  disease 
and  had  taken  the  quickest  means  of  settling  his  di- 
lemma. 

Kennedy  looked  up  suddenly  from  the  note. 

"Do  you  think  it  was  a  suicide?"  asked  the  cor- 
oner. 

"Suicide?"  Craig  repeated.  "Suicides  don't  usu- 
ally write  on  typewriters.  A  hasty  note  scrawled 
on  a  sheet  of  paper  in  trembling  pen  or  pencil,  that 


The  Dream  Doctor  13 

is  what  they  usually  leave.  No,  some  one  tried  to 
escape  the  handwriting  experts  this  way." 

"Exactly  my  idea,"  agreed  Dr.  Leslie,  with  evident 
satisfaction.  "Now  listen.  Maitland  was  conscious 
almost  up  to  the  last  moment,  and  yet  the  hospital 
doctors  tell  me  they  could  not  get  a  syllable  of  an 
ante-mortem  statement  from  him." 

"You  mean  he  refused  to  talk?"  I  asked. 

"No,"  he  replied;  "it  was  more  perplexing  than 
that.  Even  if  the  police  had  not  made  the  usual 
blunder  of  arresting  him  for  intoxication  instead  of 
sending  him  immediately  to  the  hospital,  it  would 
have  made  no  difference.  The  doctors  simply  could 
not  have  saved  him,  apparently.  For  the  truth  is, 
Professor  Kennedy,  we  don't  even  know  what  was  the 
matter  with  him." 

Dr.  Leslie  seemed  much  excited  by  the  case,  as  well 
he  might  be. 

"Maitland  was  found  reeling  and  staggering  on 
Broadway  this  morning,"  continued  the  coroner. 
"Perhaps  the  policeman  was  not  really  at  fault  at 
first  for  arresting  him,  but  before  the  wagon  came 
Maitland  was  speechless  and  absolutely  unable  to 
move  a  muscle." 

Dr.  Leslie  paused  as  he  recited  the  strange  facts, 
then  resumed:  "His  eyes  reacted,  all  right.  He 
seemed  to  want  to  speak,  to  write,  but  couldn't.  A 
frothy  saliva  dribbled  from  his  mouth,  but  he  could 
not  frame  a  word.  He  was  paralysed,  and  his 
breathing  was  peculiar.  They  then  hurried  him  to 
the  hospital  as  soon  as  they  could.  But  it  was  o* 
no  use." 


14  The  Dream  Doctor 

Kennedy  was  regarding  the  doctor  keenly  as  he 
proceeded.  Dr.  Leslie  paused  again  to  emphasise 
what  he  was  about  to  say. 

"Here  is  another  strange  thing.  It  may  or  may 
not  be  of  importance,  but  it  is  strange,  nevertheless. 
Before  Maitland  died  they  sent  for  his  wife.  He  wTas 
still  conscious  when  she  reached  the  hospital,  could 
recognise  her,  seemed  to  want  to  speak,  but  could 
neither  talk  nor  move.  It  was  pathetic.  She  was 
grief-stricken,  of  course.  But  she  did  not  faint.  She 
is  not  of  the  fainting  kind.  It  was  what  she  said 
that  impressed  everyone.  'I  knew  it — I  knew  it,'  she 
cried.  She  had  dropped  on  her  knees  by  the  side 
of  the  bed.  *I  felt  it.  Only  the  other  night  I  had 
the  horrible  dream.  I  saw  him  in  a  terrific  strug- 
gle. I  could  not  see  what  it  was — it  seemed  to  be 
an  invisible  thing.  I  ran  to  him — then  the  scene 
shifted.  I  saw  a  funeral  procession,  and  in  the  cas- 
ket I  could  see  through  the  wood — his  face — oh,  it 
was  a  warning!  It  has  come  true.  I  feared  it,  even 
though  I  knew  it  was  only  a  dream.  Often  I  have 
had  the  dream  of  that  funeral  procession  and  always 
I  saw  the  same  face,  his  face.  Oh,  it  is  horrible — 
terrible  !>" 

It  was  evident  that  Dr.  Leslie  at  least  was  im- 
pressed by  the  dream. 

"What  have  you  done  since?"  asked  Craig. 

"I  have  turned  loose  everyone  I  could  find  avail- 
able," replied  Dr.  Leslie,  handing  over  a  sheaf  of  re- 
ports. 

Kennedy  glanced  keenly  over  them  as  they  lay 


The  Dream  Doctor  15 

spread  out  on  the  table.  "I  should  like  to  see  the 
body,"  he  said,  at  length. 

It  was  lying  in  the  next  room,  awaiting  Dr.  Les- 
lie's permission  to  be  removed. 

"At  first,"  explained  the  doctor,  leading  the  way, 
"we  thought  it  might  be  a  case  of  knock-out  drops, 
chloral,  you  know — or  perhaps  chloral  and  whiskey, 
a  combination  which  might  unite  to  make  chloroform 
in  the  blood.  But  no.  We  have  tested  for  every- 
thing we  can  think  of.  In  fact  there  seems  to  be  no 
trace  of  a  drug  present.  It  is  inexplicable.  If  Mait- 
land  really  committed  suicide,  he  must  have  taken 
something — and  as  far  as  we  can  find  out  there  is 
no  trace  of  anything.  As  far  as  we  have  gone  we 
have  always  been  forced  back  to  the  original  idea  that 
it  was  a  natural  death — perhaps  due  to  shock  of  some 
kind,  or  organic  weakness." 

Kennedy  had  thoughtfully  raised  one  of  the  life- 
less hands  and  was  examining  it. 

"Not  that,"  he  corrected.  "Even  if  the  autopsy 
shows  nothing,  it  doesn't  prove  that  it  was  a  nat- 
ural death.  Look!" 

On  the  back  of  the  hand  was  a  tiny,  red,  swollen 
mark.  Dr.  Leslie  regarded  it  with  pursed-up  lips  as 
though  not  knowing  whether  it  was  significant  or  not. 

"The  tissues  seemed  to  be  thickly  infiltrated  with 
a  reddish  serum  and  the  blood-vessels  congested,"  he 
remarked  slowly.  "There  was  a  frothy  mucus  in  the 
bronchial  tubes.  The  blood  was  liquid,  dark,  and 
didn't  clot  The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  the  autop- 
sical  research  revealed  absolutely  nothing  but  a  gen- 


16  The  Dream  Doctor 

era!  disorganisation  of  the  blood-corpuscles,  a  most 
peculiar  thing,  but  one  the  significance  of  which  none 
of  us  here  can  fathom.  If  it  was  poison  that  he  took 
or  that  had  been  given  to  him,  it  was  the  most  subtle, 
intangible,  elusive,  that  ever  came  to  my  knowledge. 
Why,  there  is  absolutely  no  trace  or  clue — " 

"Nor  any  use  in  looking  for  one  in  that  way,"  broke 
in  Kennedy  decisively.  "If  we  are  to  make  any  prog- 
ress in  this  case,  we  must  look  elsewhere  than  to  an 
autopsy.  There  is  no  clue  beyond  what  you  have 
found,  if  I  am  right.  And  I  think  I  am  right.  It 
was  the  venom  of  the  cobra." 

"Cobra  venom?"  repeated  the  coroner,  glancing  up 
at  a  row  of  technical  works. 

"Yes.  No,  it's  no  use  trying  to  look  it  up.  There 
is  no  way  of  verifying  a  case  of  cobra  poisoning  ex- 
cept by  the  symptoms.  It  is  not  like  any  other  poi- 
soning in  the  world." 

Dr.  Leslie  and  I  looked  at  each  other,  aghast  at 
the  thought  of  a  poison  so  subtle  that  it  defied  de- 
tection. 

"You  think  he  was  bitten  by  a  snake?"  I  blurted 
out,  half  incredulous. 

"Oh,  Walter,  on  Broadway?  No,  of  course  not. 
But  cobra  venom  has  a  medicinal  value.  It  is  sent 
here  in  small  quantities  for  various  medicinal  pur- 
poses. Then,  too,  it  would  be  easy  to  use  it.  A 
scratch  on  the  hand  in  the  passing  crowd,  a  quick 
shoving  of  the  letter  into  the  pocket  of  the  victim — • 
and  the  murderer  would  probably  think  to  go  un- 
detected." 

We  stood  dismayed  at  the  horror  of  such  a  scien- 


The  Dream  Doctor  17 

tific  murder  and  the  meagreness  of  the  materials  to 
work  on  in  tracing  it  out. 

"That  dream  was  indeed  peculiar,"  ruminated 
Craig,  before  we  had  really  grasped  the  import  of 
his  quick  revelation. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  attach  any  im- 
portance to  a  dream?"  I  asked  hurriedly,  trying  to 
follow  him. 

Kennedy  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  I 
could  see  plainly  enough  that  he  did. 

"You  haven't  given  this  letter  out  to  the  press?" 
he  asked. 

"Not  yet,"  answered  Dr.  Leslie. 

"Then  don't,  until  I  say  to  do  so.  I  shall  need  to 
keep  it." 

The  cab  in  which  we  had  come  to  the  hospital  was 
still  waiting.  "We  must  see  Mrs.  Maitland  first," 
said  Kennedy,  as  we  left  the  nonplused  coroner  and 
his  assistants. 

The  Maitlands  lived,  we  soon  found,  in  a  large  old- 
fashioned  brownstone  house  just  off  Fifth  Avenue. 

Kennedy's  card  with  the  message  that  it  was  very 
urgent  brought  us  in  as  far  as  the  library,  where  we 
sat  for  a  moment  looking  around  at  the  quiet  refine- 
ment of  a  more  than  well-to-do  home. 

On  a  desk  at  one  end  of  the  long  room  was  a  type- 
writer. Kennedy  rose.  There  was  not  a  sound  of 
any  one  in  either  the  hallway  or  the  adjoining  rooms. 
A  moment  later  he  was  bending  quietly  over  the  type- 
writer in  the  corner,  running  off  a  series  of  charac- 
ters on  a  sheet  of  paper.  A  sound  of  a  closing  door 
upstairs,  and  he  quickly  jammed  the  paper  into  his 


18  The  Dream  Doctor 

pocket,  retraced  his  steps,  and  was  sitting  quietly 
opposite  me  again. 

Mrs.  Maitland  was  a  tall,  perfectly  formed  woman 
of  baffling  age,  but  with  the  impression  of  both  youth 
and  maturity  which  was  very  fascinating.  She  was 
calmer  now,  and  although  she  seemed  to  be  of  any- 
thing but  a  hysterical  nature,  it  was  quite  evident 
that  her  nervousness  was  due  to  much  more  than  the 
shock  of  the  recent  tragic  event,  great  as  that  must 
have  been.  It  may  have  been  that  I  recalled  the 
words  of  the  note,  "Dr.  Boss  has  told  me  the  nature 
of  your  illness,"  but  I  fancied  that  she  had  been  suf- 
fering from  some  nervous  trouble. 

"There  is  no  use  prolonging  our  introduction,  Mrs. 
Maitland,"  began  Kennedy.  "We  have  called  be- 
cause the  authorities  are  not  yet  fully  convinced  that 
Mr.  Maitland  committed  suicide." 

It  was  evident  that  she  had  seen  the  note,  at  least. 
"Not  a  suicide?"  she  repeated,  looking  from  one  to 
the  other  of  us. 

"Mr.  Masterson  on  the  wire,  ma'am,"  whispered  a 
maid.  "Do  you  wish  to  speak  to  him?  He  begged 
to  say  that  he  did  not  wish  to  intrude,  but  he  felt 
that  if  there—" 

"Ye«,  I  will  talk  to  him — in  my  room,"  she  inter- 
rupted. 

I  thought  that  there  was  just  a  trace  of  well-con- 
cealed confusion,  as  she  excused  herself. 

We  rose.  Kennedy  did  not  resume  his  seat  im- 
mediately. Without  a  word  or  look  he  completed 
his  work  at  the  typewriter  by  abstracting  several 
blank  sheets  of  paper  from  the  desk. 


The  Dream  Doctor  19 

A  few  moments  later  Mrs.  Maitland  returned, 
calmer. 

"In  his  note,"  resumed  Kennedy,  "he  spoke  of  Dr. 
Ross  and — " 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "can't  you  see  Dr.  Boss  about  it? 
Really  I — I  oughtn't  to  be — questioned  in  this  way 
— not  now,  so  soon  after  what  I've  had  to  go 
through." 

It  seemed  that  her  nerves  were  getting  unstrung 
again.  Kennedy  rose  to  go. 

"Later,  come  to  see  me,"  she  pleaded.  "But  now 
— you  must  realise — it  is  too  much.  I  cannot  talk 
— I  cannot" 

"Mr.  Maitland  had  no  enemies  that  you  know  of?" 
asked  Kennedy,  determined  to  learn  something  now, 
at  least. 

"No,  no.     None  that  would — do  that." 

"You  had  had  no  quarrel?"  he  added. 

"No — we  never  quarrelled.  Oh,  Price — why  did 
you?  How  could  you?" 

Her  feelings  were  apparently  rapidly  getting  the 
better  of  her.  Kennedy  bowed,  and  we  withdrew  si- 
lently. He  had  learned  one  thing.  She  believed  or 
wanted  others  to  believe  in  the  note. 

At  a  public  telephone,  a  few  minutey  later,  Ken- 
nedy was  running  over  the  names  in  the  telephone 
book.  "Let  me  see — here's  an  Arnold  Masterson," 
he  considered.  Then  turning  the  pages  he  went  on, 
"Now  we  must  find  this  Dr.  Boss.  There — Dr.  Shel- 
don Ross — specialist  in  nerve  diseases — that  must  be 
the  one.  He  lives  only  a  few  blocks  further  up- 
town." 


20  The  Dream  Doctor 

Handsome,  well  built,  tall,  dignified,  in  fact  dis- 
tinguished, Dr.  Eoss  proved  to  be  a  man  whose  very 
face  and  manner  were  magnetic,  as  should  be  those 
of  one  who  had  chosen  his  branch  of  the  profession. 

"You  have  heard,  I  suppose,  of  the  strange  death 
of  Price  Maitland?"  began  Kennedy  when  we  were 
seated  in  the  doctor's  office. 

"Yes,  about  an  hour  ago."  It  was  evident  that  he 
was  studying  us. 

"Mrs.  Maitland,  I  believe,  is  a  patient  of  yours?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Maitland  is  one  of  my  patients,"  he  ad- 
mitted interrogatively.  Then,  as  if  considering  that 
Kennedy's  manner  was  not  to  be  mollified  by  any- 
thing short  of  a  show  of  confidence,  he  added :  "She 
came  to  me  several  months  ago.  I  have  had  her 
under  treatment  for  nervous  trouble  since  then,  with- 
out a  marked  improvement." 

"And  Mr.  Maitland,"  asked  Kennedy,  "was  he  a 
patient,  too?" 

"Mr.  Maitland,"  admitted  the  doctor  with  some 
reticence,  "had  called  on  me  this  morning,  but  no, 
he  was  not  a  patient." 

"Did  you  notice  anything  unusual?" 

"He  seemed  to  be  much  worried,"  Dr.  Eoss  replied 
guardedly. 

Kennedy  took  the  suicide  note  from  his  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  him. 

"I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  this?"  asked  Craig. 

The  doctor  read  it  hastily,  then  looked  up,  as  if 
measuring  from  Kennedy's  manner  just  how  much 
he  knew.  "As  nearly  as  I  could  make  out,"  he  said 
slowly,  his  reticence  to  outward  appearance  gone, 


The  Dream  Doctor  21 

"Maitland  seemed  to  have  something  on  his  mind. 
He  came  inquiring  as  to  the  real  cause  of  his  wife's 
nervousness.  Before  I  had  talked  to  him  long  I  gath- 
ered that  he  had  a  haunting  fear  that  she  did  not  love 
him  any  more,  if  ever.  I  fancied  that  he  even 
doubted  her  fidelity." 

I  wondered  why  the  doctor  was  talking  so  freely, 
now,  in  contrast  with  his  former  secretiveness. 

"Do  you  think  he  was  right?"  shot  out  Kennedy 
quickly,  eying  Dr.  Ross  keenly. 

"No,  emphatically,  no;  he  was  not  right,"  replied 
the  doctor,  meeting  Craig's  scrutiny  without  flinch- 
ing. "Mrs.  Maitland,"  he  went  on  more  slowly  as  if 
carefully  weighing  every  word,  "belongs  to  a  large 
and  growing  class  of  women  in  whom,  to  speak 
frankly,  sex  seems  to  be  suppressed.  She  is  a  very 
handsome  and  attractive  woman — you  hare  seen  her? 
Yes?  You  must  have  noticed,  though,  that  she  is 
really  frigid,  cold,  intellectual." 

The  doctor  was  so  sharp  and  positive  about  his 
first  statement  and  so  careful  in  phrasing  the  second 
that  I,  at  least,  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  Mait- 
land might  have  been  right,  after  all.  I  imagined 
that  Kennedy,  too,  had  his  suspicions  of  the  doctor. 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of  or  used  cobra  venom  in 
any  of  your  medical  work?"  he  asked  casually. 

Dr.  Ross  wheeled  in  his  chair,  surprised. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  replied  quickly.  "You  know  that 
it  is  a  test  for  blood  diseases,  one  of  the  most  recently 
discovered  and  used  parallel  to  the  old  tests.  It  is 
known  as  the  Weil  cobra-venom  test." 

"Do  you  use  it  often?" 


22  The  Dream  Doctor 

"N-no,"  he  replied.  "My  practice  ordinarily  does 
not  lie  in  that  direction.  I  used  it  not  long  ago,  once, 
though.  I  have  a  patient  under  my  care,  a  well- 
known  club-man.  He  came  to  me  originally — " 

"Arnold  Masterson?"  asked  Craig. 

"Yes — how  did  you  know  his  name?" 

"Guessed  it,"  replied  Craig  laconically,  as  if  he 
knew  much  more  than  he  cared  to  tell.  "He  was  a 
friend  of  Mrs.  Maitland's,  was  he  not?" 

"I  should  say  not,"  replied  Dr.  Koss,  without  hesi- 
tation. He  was  quite  ready  to  talk  without  being 
urged.  "Ordinarily,"  he  explained  confidentially, 
"professional  ethics  seals  my  lips,  but  in  this  in- 
stance, since  you  seem  to  know  so  much,  I  may  as 
well  tell  more." 

I  hardly  knew  whether  to  take  him  at  his  face  value 
or  not.  Still  he  went  on:  "Mrs.  Maitland  is,  as  I 
have  hinted  at,  what  we  specialists  would  call  a  con- 
sciously frigid  but  unconsciously  passionate  woman. 
As  an  intellectual  woman  she  suppresses  nature. 
But  nature  does  and  will  assert  herself,  we  believe. 
Often  you  will  find  an  intellectual  woman  attracted 
unreasonably  to  a  purely  physical  man — I  mean, 
speaking  generally,  not  in  particular  cases.  You 
have  read  Ellen  Key,  I  presume?  Well,  she  expresses 
it  well  in  some  of  the  things  she  has  written  about 
affinities.  Now,  don't  misunderstand  me,"  he  cau- 
tioned. "I  am  speaking  generally,  not  of  this  indi- 
vidual case." 

I  was  following  Dr.  Boss  closely.  When  he  talked 
so,  he  was  a  most  fascinating  man. 

"Mrs.    Maitland,"    he   resumed,    "has   been    much 


The  Dream  Doctor  23 

troubled  by  her  dreams,  as  you  have  heard,  doubt- 
less. The  other  day  she  told  me  of  another  dream. 
In  it  she  seemed  to  be  attacked  by  a  bull,  which  sud- 
denly changed  into  a  serpent.  I  may  say  that  I  had 
asked  her  to  make  a  record  of  her  dreams,  as  well 
as  other  data,  which  I  thought  might  be  of  use  in  the 
study  and  treatment  of  her  nervous  troubles.  I  read- 
ily surmised  that  not  the  dream,  but  something  else, 
perhaps  some  recollection  which  it  recalled,  worried 
her.  By  careful  questioning  I  discovered  that  it  was 
— a  broken  engagement." 

"Yes,"  prompted  Kennedy. 

"The  bull-serpent,  she  admitted,  had  a  half-human 
face — the  face  of  Arnold  Masterson!" 

Was  Dr.  Ross  desperately  shifting  suspicion  from 
himself?  I  asked. 

"Very  strange — very,"  ruminated  Kennedy.  "That 
reminds  me  again.  I  wonder  if  you  could  let  me  have 
a  sample  of  this  cobra  venom  ?" 

"Surely.     Excuse  me;  I'll  get  you  some." 

The  doctor  had  scarcely  shut  the  door  when  Ken- 
nedy began  prowling  around  quietly.  In  the  wait- 
ing-room, which  was  now  deserted,  stood  a  type- 
writer. 

Quickly  Craig  ran  over  the  keys  of  the  machine 
until  he  had  a  sample  of  every  character.  Then  he 
reached  into  drawer  of  the  desk  and  hastily  stuffed 
several  blank  sheets  of  paper  into  his  pocket. 

"Of  course  I  need  hardly  caution  you  in  handling 
this,"  remarked  Dr.  Boss,  as  he  returned.  "You  are 
as  well  acquainted  as  I  am  with  the  danger  attending 
its  careless  and  unscientific  uses." 


24  The  Dream  Doctor 

"I  am,  and  I  thank  you  very  much,"  said  Kennedy. 

We  were  standing  in  the  waiting-room. 

"You  will  keep  me  advised  of  any  progress  you 
make  in  the  case?"  the  doctor  asked.  "It  compli- 
cates, as  you  can  well  imagine,  my  treatment  of  Mrs. 
Maitland." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so,"  replied  Kennedy,  as  we 
departed. 

An  hour  later  found  us  in  a  handsomely  appointed 
bachelor  apartment  in  a  fashionable  hotel  overlook- 
ing the  lower  entrance  to  the  Park. 

"Mr.  Masterson,  I  believe?"  inquired  Kennedy,  as 
a  slim,  debonair,  youngish-old  man  entered  the  room 
in  which  we  had  been  waiting. 

"I  am  that  same,"  he  smiled.  "To  what  am  I  in 
debted  for  this  pleasure?" 

We  had  been  gazing  at  the  various  curios  with 
which  he  had  made  the  room  a  veritable  den  of  the 
connoisseur. 

"You  have  evidently  travelled  considerably,"  re- 
marked Kennedy,  avoiding  the  question  for  the  time. 

"Yes,  I  have  been  back  in  this  country  only  a  few 
weeks,"  Masterson  replied,  awaiting  the  answer  to 
the  first  question. 

"I  called,"  proceeded  Kennedy,  "in  the  hope  that 
you,  Mr.  Masterson,  might  be  able  to  shed  some  light 
on  the  rather  peculiar  case  of  Mr.  Maitland,  of  whose 
death,  I  suppose,  you  have  already  heard." 

"I?" 

"You  have  known  Mrs.  Maitland  a  long  time?" 
ignored  Kennedy. 

"We  went  to  school  together." 


The  Dream  Doctor  25 

"And  were  engaged,  were  you  not?" 

Masterson  looked  at  Kennedy  in  ill-concealed  sur- 
prise. 

"Yes.  But  how  did  you  know  that?  It  was  a 
secret — only  between  us  two — I  thought.  She  broke 
it  off— not  I." 

"She  broke  off  the  engagement?"  prompted  Ken- 
nedy. 

"Yes — a  story  about  an  escapade  of  mine  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  you  know — but,  by  Jove!  I  like 
your  nerve,  sir."  Masterson  frowned,  then  added: 
"I  prefer  not  to  talk  of  that.  There  are  some  inci- 
dents in  a  man's  life,  particularly  where  a  woman 
is  concerned,  that  are  forbidden." 

"Oh,  I  beg  pardon,"  hastened  Kennedy,  "but,  by 
the  way,  you  would  have  no  objection  to  making  a 
statement  regarding  your  trip  abroad  and  your  re- 
cent return  to  this  country — subsequent  to — ah — 
the  incident  which  we  will  not  refer  to?" 

"None  whatever.  I  left  New  York  in  1908,  dis- 
gusted with  everything  in  general,  and  life  here  in 
particular — " 

"Would  you  object  to  jotting  it  down  so  that  I  can 
get  it  straight?"  asked  Kennedy.  "Just  a  brief  r6~ 
sume,  you  know." 

"No.     Have  you  a  pen  or  a  pencil?" 

"I  think  you  might  as  well  dictate  it;  it  will  take 
only  a  minute  to  run  it  off  on  the  typewriter." 

Masterson  rang  the  bell.  A  young  man  appeared 
noiselessly. 

"Wix,"  he  said,  "take  this:  'I  left  New  York  in 
1908,  travelling  on  the  Continent,  mostly  in  Paris, 


26  The  Dream  Doctor 

Vienna,  and  Kome.  Latterly  I  have  lived  in  Lon- 
don, until  six  weeks  ago,  when  I  returned  to  New 
York/  Will  that  serve?" 

"Yes,  perfectly,"  said  Kennedy,  as  he  folded  up  the 
sheet  of  paper  which  the  young  secretary  handed  to 
him.  "Thank  you.  I  trust  you  won't  consider  it 
an  impertinence  if  I  ask  you  whether  you  were  aware 
that  Dr.  Boss  was  Mrs.  Maitland's  physician?" 

"Of  course  I  knew  it,"  Masterson  replied  frankly. 
"I  have  given  him  up  for  that  reason,  although  he 
does  not  know  it  yet.  I  most  strenuously  object  to 
being  the  subject  of — what  shall  I  call  it? — his  men- 
tal vivisection." 

"Do  you  think  he  oversteps  his  position  in  trying 
to  learn  of  the  mental  life  of  his  patients?"  queried 
Craig. 

"I  would  rather  say  nothing  further  on  that, 
either,"  replied  Masterson.  "I  was  talking  over  the 
wire  to  Mrs.  Maitland  a  few  moments  ago,  giving  her 
my  condolences  and  asking  if  there  was  anything  I 
could  do  for  her  immediately,  just  as  I  would  have 
done  in  the  old  days — only  then,  of  course,  I  should 
have  gone  to  her  directly.  The  reason  I  did  not  go, 
but  telephoned,  was  because  this  Koss  seems  to  have 
put  some  ridiculous  notions  into  her  head  about  me. 
Now,  look  here;  I  don't  want  to  discuss  this.  I've 
told  you  more  than  I  intended,  anyway." 

Masterson  had  risen.  His  suavity  masked  a  final 
determination  to  say  no  more. 


II 

The  Soul  Analysis 

fTIHE  day  was  far  advanced  after  this  series  of 
J.  very  unsatisfactory  interviews.  I  looked  at 
Kennedy  blankly.  We  seemed  to  have  uncovered 
so  little  that  was  tangible  that  I  was  much  surprised 
to  find  that  apparently  he  was  well  contented  with 
what  had  happened  in  the  case  so  far. 

"I  shall  be  busy  for  a  few  hours  in  the  laboratory, 
Walter,"  he  remarked,  as  we  parted  at  the  subway, 
"I  think,  if  you  have  nothing  better  to  do,  that  you 
might  employ  the  time  in  looking  up  some  of  the  gos« 
sip  about  Mrs.  Maitland  and  Masterson,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  Dr.  Ross,"  he  emphasised.  "Drop  in  aftei- 
dinner." 

There  was  not  much  that  I  could  find.  Of  Mrs. 
Maitland  there  was  practically  nothing  that  I  already 
did  not  know  from  having  seen  her  name  in  the  pa- 
pers. She  was  a  leader  in  a  certain  set  which  was 
devoting  its  activities  to  various  social  and  moral 
propaganda.  Masterson's  early  escapades  were  no- 
torious even  in  the  younger  smart  set  in  which  he 
had  moved,  but  his  years  abroad  had  mellowed  the 
recollection  of  them.  He  had  not  distinguished  him- 
self in  any  way  since  his  return  to  set  gossip  afloat, 
nor  had  any  tales  of  his  doings  abroad  filtered  through 
to  New  York  clubland.  Dr.  Ross,  I  found  to  my  sur- 

27 


28  The  Dream  Doctor 

prise,  was  rather  better  known  than  I  had  supposed, 
both  as  a  specialist  and  as  a  man  about  town.  He 
seemed  to  have  risen  rapidly  in  his  profession  as 
physician  to  the  ills  of  society's  nerves. 

I  was  amazed  after  dinner  to  find  Kennedy  doing 
nothing  at  all. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked.  "Have  you  struck 
a  snag?" 

"No,"  he  replied  slowly,  "I  was  only  waiting.  I 
told  them  to  be  here  between  half-past  eight  and 
nine." 

"Who?"  I  queried. 

"Dr.  Leslie,"  he  answered.  "He  has  the  authority 
to  compel  the  attendance  of  Mrs.  Maitland,  Dr.  Boss, 
and  Masterson." 

The  quickness  with  which  he  had  worked  out  a 
case  which  was,  to  me,  one  of  the  most  inexplicable 
he  had  had  for  a  long  time,  left  me  standing  speech- 
less. 

One  by  one  they  dropped  in  during  the  next  half- 
hour,  and,  as  usual,  it  fell  to  me  to  receive  them  and 
smooth  over  the  rough  edges  which  always  obtruded 
at  these  little  enforced  parties  in  the  laboratory. 

Dr.  Leslie  and  Dr.  Boss  were  the  first  to  arrive. 
They  had  not  come  together,  but  had  met  at  the  door. 
I  fancied  I  saw  a  touch  of  professional  jealousy  in 
their  manner,  at  least  on  the  part  of  Dr.  Ross.  Mas- 
terson  came,  as  usual  ignoring  the  seriousness  of  the 
matter  and  accusing  us  all  of  conspiring  to  keep  him 
from  the  first  night  of  a  light  opera  which  was  open- 
ing. Mrs.  Maitland  followed,  the  unaccustomed  pal- 
lor of  her  face  heightened  by  the  plain  black  dress. 


The  Soul  Analysis  29 

I  felt  most  uncomfortable,  as  indeed  I  think  the  rest 
did.  She  merely  inclined  her  head  to  Masterson, 
seemed  almost  to  avoid  the  eye  of  Dr.  Boss,  glared  at 
Dr.  Leslie,  and  absolutely  ignored  me. 

Craig  had  been  standing  aloof  at  his  laboratory 
table,  beyond  a  nod  of  recognition  paying  little  at- 
tention to  anything.  He  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry 
to  begin. 

"Great  as  science  is,"  he  commenced,  at  length, 
"it  is  yet  far  removed  from  perfection.  There  are, 
for  instance,  substances  so  mysterious,  subtle,  and 
dangerous  as  to  set  the  most  delicate  tests  and  pow- 
erful lenses  at  naught,  while  they  carry  death  most 
horrible  in  their  train." 

He  could  scarcely  have  chosen  his  opening  words 
with  more  effect. 

"Chief  among  them,"  he  proceeded,  "are  those  from 
nature's  own  laboratory.  There  are  some  sixty  spe- 
cies of  serpents,  for  example,  with  deadly  venom. 
Among  these,  as  you  doubtless  have  all  heard,  none 
has  brought  greater  terror  to  mankind  than  the  cobra- 
di-capello,  the  Naja  tripudians  of  India.  It  is  un- 
necessary for  me  to  describe  the  cobra  or  to  say  any- 
thing about  the  countless  thousands  who  have  yielded 
up  their  lives  to  it.  I  have  here  a  small  quantity  of 
the  venom" — he  indicated  it  in  a  glass  beaker.  "It 
was  obtained  in  New  York,  and  I  have  tested  it  on 
guinea-pigs.  It  has  lost  none  of  its  potency." 

I  fancied  that  there  was  a  feeling  of  relief  when 
Kennedy  by  his  actions  indicated  that  he  was  not 
going  to  repeat  the  test. 

"This  venom,"  he  continued,  "dries  in  the  air  into  a 


80  The  Dream  Doctor 

substance  like  small  scales,  soluble  in  water  but  not 
in  alcohol.  It  has  only  a  slightly  acrid  taste  and 
odour,  and,  strange  to  say,  is  inoffensive  on  the  tongue 
or  mucous  surfaces,  even  in  considerable  quantities. 
All  we  know  about  it  is  that  in  an  open  wound  it  is 
deadly  swift  in  action." 

It  was  difficult  to  sit  unmoved  at  the  thought  that 
before  us,  in  only  a  few  grains  of  the  stuff,  was  enough 
to  kill  us  all  if  it  were  introduced  into  a  scratch  of 
our  skin. 

"Until  recently  chemistry  was  powerless  to  solve 
the  enigma,  the  microscope  to  detect  its  presence,  or 
pathology  to  explain  the  reason  for  its  deadly  effect. 
And  even  now,  about  all  we  know  is  that  autopsical 
research  reveals  absolutely  nothing  but  the  general 
disorganisation  of  the  blood  corpuscles.  In  fact, 
such  poisoning  is  best  known  by  the  peculiar  symp- 
toms— the  vertigo,  weak  legs,  and  falling  jaw.  The 
victim  is  unable  to  speak  or  swallow,  but  is  fully  sen- 
sible. He  has  nausea,  paralysis,  an  accelerated  pulse 
at  first  followed  rapidly  by  a  weakening,  with  breath 
slow  and  laboured.  The  pupils  are  contracted,  but 
react  to  the  last,  and  he  dies  in  convulsions  like  as- 
phyxia. It  is  both  a  blood  and  a  nerve  poison." 

As  Kennedy  proceeded,  Mrs.  Maitland  never  took 
her  large  eyes  from  his  face. 

Kennedy  now  drew  from  a  large  envelope  in  which 
he  protected  it,  the  typewritten  note  which  had  been 
found  on  Maitland.  He  said  nothing  about  the  "sui- 
cide" as  he  quietly  began  a  new  line  of  accumulating 
evidence. 

"There  is  an  increasing  use  of  the  typewriting  ma- 


The  Soul  Analysis  31 

chine  for  the  production  of  spurious  papers,"  he  be- 
gan, rattling  the  note  significantly.  "It  is  partly  due 
to  the  great  increase  in  the  use  of  the  typewriter  gen- 
erally, but  more  than  all  is  it  due  to  the  erroneous 
idea  that  fraudulent  typewriting  cannot  be  detected. 
The  fact  is  that  the  typewriter  is  perhaps  a  worse 
means  of  concealing  identity  than  is  disguised  hand- 
writing. It  does  not  afford  the  effective  protection 
to  the  criminal  that  is  supposed.  On  the  contrary, 
the  typewriting  of  a  fraudulent  document  may  be  the 
direct  means  by  which  it  can  be  traced  to  its  source. 
First  we  have  to  determine  what  kind  of  machine  a 
certain  piece  of  writing  was  done  with,  then  what 
particular  machine." 

He  paused  and  indicated  a  number  of  little  instru- 
ments on  the  table. 

"For  example,"  he  resumed,  "the  Lovibond  tintom- 
eter tells  me  its  story  of  the  colour  of  the  ink  used 
in  the  ribbon  of  the  machine  that  wrote  this  note  as 
well  as  several  standard  specimens  which  I  have  been 
able  to  obtain  from  three  machines  on  which  it  might 
have  been  written. 

"That  leads  me  to  speak  of  the  quality  of  the  paper 
in  this  half-sheet  that  was  found  on  Mr.  Maitland. 
Sometimes  such  a  half-sheet  may  be  mated  with  the 
other  half  from  which  it  was  torn  as  accurately  as  if 
the  act  were  performed  before  your  eyes.  There  was 
no  such  good  fortune  in  this  case,  but  by  measure- 
ments made  by  the  vernier  micrometer  caliper  I  have 
found  the  precise  thickness  of  several  samples  of 
paper  as  compared  to  that  of  the  suicide  note.  I 
need  hardly  add  that  in  thickness  and  quality,  as  well 


32  The  Dream  Doctor 

as  in  the  tint  of  the  ribbon,  the  note  points  to  one 
person  as  the  author." 

No  one  moved. 

"And  there  are  other  proofs — unescapable,"  Ken- 
nedy hurried  on.  "For  instance,  I  have  counted  the 
number  of  threads  to  the  inch  in  the  ribbon,  as  shown 
by  the  letters  of  this  note.  That  also  corresponds 
to  the  number  in  one  of  the  three  ribbons." 

Kennedy  laid  down  a  glass  plate  peculiarly  ruleci 
in  little  squares. 

"This,"  he  explained,  "is  an  alignment  test  plate, 
through  which  can  be  studied  accurately  the  spacing 
and  alignment  of  typewritten  characters.  There  are 
in  this  pica  type  ten  to  the  inch  horizontally  and  six 
to  the  inch  vertically.  That  is  usual.  Perhaps  you 
are  not  acquainted  with  the  fact  that  typewritten 
characters  are  in  line  both  ways,  horizontally  and 
vertically.  There  are  nine  possible  positions  for 
each  character  which  may  be  assumed  with  reference 
to  one  of  these  little  standard  squares  of  the  test 
plate.  You  cannot  fail  to  appreciate  what  an  im- 
mense impossibility  there  is  that  one  machine  should 
duplicate  the  variations  out  of  the  true  which  the 
microscope  detects  for  several  characters  on  an- 
other. 

"Not  only  that,  but  the  faces  of  many  letters  inev- 
itably become  broken,  worn,  battered,  as  well  as  out 
of  alignment,  or  slightly  shifted  in  their  position  on 
the  type  bar.  The  type  faces  are  not  flat,  but  a  little 
concave  to  conform  to  the  roller.  There  are  thou- 
sands of  possible  divergences,  scars,  and  deformities 
in  each  machine. 


The  Soul  Analysis  33 

"Such  being  the  case,"  he  concluded,  "typewriting 
has  an  individuality  like  that  of  the  Bertillon  sys- 
tem, finger-prints,  or  the  portrait  parle" 

He  paused,  then  added  quickly:  "What  machine 
was  it  in  this  case?  I  have  samples  here  from  that 
of  Dr.  Koss,  from  a  machine  used  by  Mr.  Masterson's 
secretary,  and  from  a  machine  which  was  accessible 
to  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Maitland." 

Kennedy  stopped,  but  he  was  not  yet  prepared  to 
relieve  the  suspense  of  two  of  those  whom  his  inves- 
tigation would  absolve. 

"Just  one  other  point,"  he  resumed  mercilessly,  "a 
point  which  a  few  years  ago  would  have  been  inex- 
plicable— if  not  positively  misleading  and  productive 
of  actual  mistake.  I  refer  to  the  dreams  of  Mrs. 
Maitland." 

I  had  been  expecting  it,  yet  the  words  startled  me. 
What  must  they  have  done  to  her?  But  she  kept  ad- 
mirable control  of  herself. 

"Dreams  used  to  be  treated  very  seriously  by  the 
ancients,  but  until  recently  modern  scientists,  reject- 
ing the  ideas  of  the  dark  ages,  have  scouted  dreams. 
To-day,  however,  we  study  them  scientifically,  for  we 
believe  that  whatever  is,  has  a  reason.  Dr.  Ross,  I 
think,  is  acquainted  with  the  new  and  remarkable 
theories  of  Dr.  Sigmund  Freud,  of  Vienna?" 

Dr.  Ross  nodded.  "I  dissent  vigorously  from  some 
of  Freud's  conclusions,"  he  hastened. 

"Let  me  state  them  first,"  resumed  Craig. 
"Dreams,  says  Freud,  are  very  important.  They 
give  us  the  most  reliable  information  concerning  the 
individual.  But  that  is  only  possible" — Kennedy 


34  The  Dream  Doctor 

emphasised  the  point — "if  the  patient  is  in  entire 
rapport  with  the  doctor. 

"Now,  the  dream,  is  not  an  absurd  and  senseless 
jumble,  but  a  perfect  mechanism  and  has  a  definite 
meaning  in  penetrating  the  mind.  It  is  as  though 
we  had  two  streams  of  thought,  one  of  which  we  al- 
low to  flow  freely,  the  other  of  which  we  are  con- 
stantly repressing,  pushing  back  into  the  subcon- 
scious, or  unconscious.  This  matter  of  the  evolution 
of  our  individual  mental  life  is  too  long  a  story  to 
bore  you  with  at  such  a  critical  moment. 

"But  the  resistances,  the  psychic  censors  of  our 
ideas,  are  always  active,  except  in  sleep.  Then  the 
repressed  material  comes  to  the  surface.  But  the  re- 
sistances never  entirely  lose  their  power,  and  the 
dream  shows  the  material  distorted.  Seldom  does 
one  recognise  his  own  repressed  thoughts  or  unat- 
tained  wishes.  The  dream  really  is  the  guardian  of 
sleep  to  satisfy  the  activity  of  the  unconscious  and  re- 
pressed mental  processes  that  would  otherwise  dis- 
turb sleep  by  keeping  the  censor  busy.  In  the  case 
of  a  nightmare  the  watchman  or  censor  is  aroused, 
finds  himself  overpowered,  so  to  speak,  and  calls  on 
consciousness  for  help. 

"There  are  three  kinds  of  dreams — those  which  rep- 
resent an  unrepressed  wish  as  fulfilled,  those  that 
represent  the  realisation  of  a  repressed  wish  in  an 
entirely  concealed  form,  and  those  that  represent  the 
realisation  of  a  repressed  wish  in  a  form  insufficiently 
or  only  partially  concealed. 

"Dreams  are  not  of  the  future,  but  of  the  past,  ex- 
cept as  they  show  striving  for  unfulfilled  wishes. 


The  Soul  Analysis  35 

Whatever  may  be  denied  in  reality  we  nevertheless 
can  realise  in  another  way — in  our  dreams.  And 
probably  more  of  our  daily  life,  conduct,  moods,  be- 
liefs than  we  think,  could  be  traced  to  preceding 
dreams." 

Dr.  Boss  was  listening  attentively,  as  Craig  turned 
to  him.  "This  is  perhaps  the  part  of  Freud's  theory 
from  which  you  dissent  most  strongly.  Freud  says 
that  as  soon  as  you  enter  the  intimate  life  of  a  pa- 
tient you  begin  to  find  sex  in  some  form.  In  fact,  the 
best  indication  of  abnormality  would  be  its  absence. 
Sex  is  one  of  the  strongest  of  human  impulses,  yet 
the  one  subjected  to  the  greatest  repression.  For 
that  reason  it  is  the  weakest  point  in  our  cultural 
development.  In  a  normal  life,  he  says,  there  are  no 
neuroses.  Let  me  proceed  now  with  what  the  Freud- 
ists  call  the  psychanalysis,  the  soul  analysis,  of  Mrs. 
Maitland." 

It  was  startling  in  the  extreme  to  consider  the  pos- 
sibilities to  which  this  new  science  might  lead,  as  he 
proceeded  to  illustrate  it. 

"Mrs.  Maitland,"  he  continued,  "your  dream  of 
fear  was  a  dream  of  what  we  call  the  fulfilment  of  a 
suppressed  wish.  Moreover,  fear  always  denotes  a 
sexual  idea  underlying  the  dream.  In  fact,  morbid 
anxiety  means  surely  unsatisfied  love.  The  old 
Greeks  knew  it.  The  gods  of  fear  were  born  of  the 
goddess  of  love.  Consciously  you  feared  the  death 
of  your  husband  because  unconsciously  you  wished 
it." 

It  was  startling,  dramatic,  cruel,  perhaps,  merci- 
less — this  dissecting  of  the  soul  of  the  handsome 


36  The  Dream  Doctor 

woman  before  us;  but  it  had  come  to  a  point  where, 
it  was  necessary  to  get  at  the  truth. 

Mrs.  Maitland,  hitherto  pale,  was  now  flushed  and 
indignant.  Yet  the  very  manner  of  her  indignation 
showed  the  truth  of  the  new  psychology  of  dreams, 
for,  as  I  learned  afterward,  people  often  become  in- 
dignant when  the  Freudists  strike  what  is  called  the 
"main  complex." 

"There  are  other  motives  just  as  important,"  pro- 
tested Dr.  Boss.  "Here  in  America  the  money  mo- 
tive, ambition — " 

"Let  me  finish,"  interposed  Kennedy.  "I  want  to 
consider  the  other  dream  also.  Fear  is  equivalent 
to  a  wish  in  this  sort  of  dream.  It  also,  as  I  have 
said,  denotes  sex.  In  dreams  animals  are  usually 
symbols.  Now,  in  this  second  dream  we  find  both 
the  bull  and  the  serpent,  from  time  immemorial,  sym- 
bols of  the  continuing  of  the  life-force.  Dreams  are 
always  based  on  experiences  or  thoughts  of  the  day 
preceding  the  dreams.  You,  Mrs.  Maitland,  dreamed 
of  a  man's  face  on  these  beasts.  There  was  every 
chance  of  having  him  suggested  to  you.  You  think 
you  hate  him.  Consciously  you  reject  him;  uncon- 
sciously you  accept  him.  Any  of  the  new  psycholo- 
gists who  knows  the  intimate  connection  between 
love  and  hate,  would  understand  how  that  is  possi- 
ble. Love  does  not  extinguish  hate;  or  hate,  love. 
They  repress  each  other.  The  opposite  sentiment 
may  very  easily  grow." 

The  situation  was  growing  more  tense  as  he  pro- 
ceeded. Was  not  Kennedy  actually  taxing  her  with 
loving  another? 


The  Soul  Analysis  37 

"The  dreamer,"  he  proceeded  remorselessly,  "is  al- 
ways the  principal  actor  in  a  dream,  or  the  dream 
centres  about  the  dreamer  most  intimately.  Dreams 
are  personal.  We  never  dream  about  matters  that 
really  concern  others,  but  ourselves. 

"Years  ago,"  he  continued,  "you  suffered  what  the 
new  psychologists  call  a  'psychic  trauma' — a  soul- 
wound.  You  were  engaged,  but  your  censored  con- 
sciousness rejected  the  manner  of  life  of  your  fiance. 
In  pique  you  married  Price  Maitland.  But  you 
never  lost  your  real,  subconscious  love  for  an- 
other." 

He  stopped,  then  added  in  a  low  tone  that  was  al- 
most inaudible,  yet  which  did  not  call  for  an  answer, 
"Could  you — be  honest  with  yourself,  for  you  need 
say  not  a  word  aloud — could  you  always  be  sure  of 
yourself  in  the  face  of  any  situation?" 

She  looked  startled.  Her  ordinarily  inscrutable 
face  betrayed  everything,  though  it  was  averted  from 
the  rest  of  us  and  could  be  seen  only  by  Kennedy. 
She  knew  the  truth  that  she  strove  to  repress;  she 
was  afraid  of  herself. 

"It  is  dangerous/'  she  murmured,  "to  be  with  a 
person  who  pays  attention  to  such  little  things.  If 
every  one  were  like  you,  I  would  no  longer  breathe 
a  syllable  of  my  dreams." 

She  was  sobbing  now. 

What  was  back  of  it  all?  I  had  heard  of  the  so- 
called  resolution  dreams.  I  had  heard  of  dreams  that 
kill,  of  unconscious  murder,  of  the  terrible  acts  of  the 
subconscious  somnambulist  of  which  the  actor  has 
no  recollection  in  the  waking  state  until  put  under 


38  The  Dream  Doctor 

hypnotism.  Was  it  that  which  Kennedy  was  driving 
at  disclosing? 

Dr.  Boss  moved  nearer  to  Mrs.  Maitland  as  if  to 
reassure  her.  Craig  was  studying  attentively  the  ef- 
fect of  his  revelation  both  on  her  and  on  the  other 
faces  before  him. 

Mrs.  Maitland,  her  shoulders  bent  with  the  out- 
pouring of  the  long-suppressed  emotion  of  the  even- 
ing and  of  the  tragic  day,  called  for  sympathy  which, 
I  could  see,  Craig  would  readily  give  when  he  had 
reached  the  climax  he  had  planned. 

"Kennedy,"  exclaimed  Masterson,  pushing  aside 
Dr.  Ross,  as  he  bounded  to  the  side  of  Mrs.  Mait- 
land, unable  to  restrain  himself  longer,  "Kennedy, 
you  are  a  faker — nothing  but  a  damned  dream  doctor 
— in  scientific  disguise." 

"Perhaps,"  replied  Craig,  with  a  quiet  curl  of  the 
lip.  "But  the  threads  of  the  typewriter  ribbon,  the 
alignment  of  the  letters,  the  paper,  all  the  'finger- 
printg'  of  that  type- written  note  of  suicide  were  those 
of  the  machine  belonging  to  the  man  who  caused  the 
soul-wound,  who  knew  Madeline  Maitland's  inmost 
heart  better  than  herself — because  he  had  heard  of 
Freud  undoubtedly,  when  he  was  in  Vienna — who 
knew  that  he  held  her  real  love  still,  who  posed  as  a 
patient  of  Dr.  Ross  to  learn  her  secrets  as  well  as  to 
secure  the  subtle  poison  of  the  cobra.  That  man,  per- 
haps, merely  brushed  against  Price  Maitland  in  the 
crowd,  enough  to  scratch  his  hand  with  the  needle, 
shove  the  false  note  into  his  pocket — anything  to  win 
the  woman  who  he  knew  loved  him,  and  whom  he 
could  win.  Masterson,  you  are  that  man!" 


The  Soul  Analysis  39 

The  next  half  hour  was  crowded  kaleidoscopically 
with  events — the  call  by  Dr.  Leslie  for  the  police,  the 
departure  of  the  Coroner  with  Masterson  in  custody, 
and  the  efforts  of  Dr.  Ross  to  calm  his  now  almost 
hysterical  patient,  Mrs.  Maitland. 

Then  a  calm  seemed  to  settle  down  over  the  old 
laboratory  which  had  so  often  been  the  scene  of  such 
events,  tense  with  human  interest.  I  could  scarcely 
conceal  my  amazement,  as  I  watched  Kennedy  quietly 
restoring  to  their  places  the  pieces  of  apparatus  he 
had  used. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked,  catching  my  eye 
as  he  paused  with  the  tintometer  in  his  hand. 

"Why,"  I  exclaimed,  "that's  a  fine  way  to  start  a 
month !  Here's  just  one  day  gone  and  you've  caught 
your  man.  Are  you  going  to  keep  that  up?  If  you 
are — I'll  quit  and  skip  to  February.  I'll  choose  the 
shortest  month,  if  that's  the  pace!" 

"Any  month  you  please,"  he  smiled  grimly,  as  he 
reluctantly  placed  the  tintometer  in  its  cabinet. 

There  was  no  use.  I  knew  that  any  other  month 
would  have  been  just  the  same. 

"Well,"  I  replied  weakly,  "all  I  can  hope  is  that 
every  day  won't  be  as  strenuous  as  this  has  been.  I 
hope,  at  least,  you  will  give  me  time  to  make  some 
notes  before  you  start  off  again." 

"Can't  say,"  he  answered,  still  busy  returning  par- 
aphernalia to  its  accustomed  place.  "I  have  no  con- 
trol over  the  cases  as  they  come  to  me — except  that  I 
can  turn  down  those  that  don't  interest  me." 

"Then,"  I  sighed  wearily,  "turn  down  the  next  one. 
I  must  have  rest.  I'm  going  home  to  sleep." 


40  The  Dream  Doctor 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  making  no  move  to  follow  me. 

I  shook  my  head  doubtfully.  It  was  impossible  to 
force  a  card  on  Kennedy.  Instead  of  showing  any 
disposition  to  switch  off  the  laboratory  lights,  he  ap- 
peared to  be  regarding  a  row  of  half-filled  test-tubes 
with  the  abstraction  of  a  man  who  has  been  inter- 
rupted in  the  midst  of  an  absorbing  occupation. 

"Good  night,"  I  said  at  length. 

"Good  night,"  he  echoed  mechanically. 

I  know  that  he  slept  that  night — at  least  his  bed 
had  been  slept  in  when  I  awoke  in  the  morning.  But 
he  was  gone.  But  then,  it  was  not  unusual  for  him, 
when  the  fever  for  work  was  on  him,  to  consider  even 
five  or  fewer  hours  a  night's  rest.  It  made  no  differ- 
ence when  I  argued  with  him.  The  fact  that  he 
thrived  on  it  himself  and  could  justify  it  by  pointing 
to  other  scientists  was  refutation  enough. 

Slowly  I  dressed,  breakfasted,  and  began  transcrib- 
ing what  I  could  from  the  hastily  jotted  down  notes 
of  the  day  before.  I  imew  that  the  work,  whatever 
it  was,  in  which  he  w^as  now  engaged  must  be  in  the 
nature  of  research,  dear  to  his  heart.  Otherwise,  he 
would  have  left  word  for  me. 

No  word  came  from  him,  however,  all  day,  and  I 
had  not  only  caught  up  in  my  notes,  but,  my  appetite 
whetted  by  our  first  case,  had  become  hungry  for 
more.  In  fact  I  had  begun  to  get  a  little  worried  at 
the  continued  silence.  A  hand  on  the  knob  of  the 
door  or  a  ring  of  the  telephone  would  have  been  a 
welcome  relief.  I  was  gradually  becoming  aware  of 
the  fact  that  I  liked  the  excitement  of  the  life  as  much 
as  Kennedy  did. 


The  Soul  Analysis  41 

I  knew  it  when  the  sudden  sharp  tinkle  of  the  tele- 
phone set  my  heart  throbbing  almost  as  quickly  as  the 
little  bell  hammer  buzzed. 

"Jameson,  for  Heaven's  sake  find  KeDBedy  imme- 
diately and  bring  him  over  here  to  the  Novella  Beauty 
Parlour.  We've  got  the  worst  case  I've  been  up 
against  in  a  long  time.  Dr.  Leslie,  the  coroner,  is 
here,  and  says  we  must  not  make  a  move  until  Ken- 
nedy arrives." 

I  doubt  whether  in  all  our  long  acquaintance  I  had 
ever  heard  First  Deputy  O'Connor  more  wildly  ex- 
cited and  apparently  more  helpless  than  he  seemed 
over  the  telephone  that  night. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"Never  mind,  never  mind.  Find  Kennedy,"  he 
called  back  almost  brusquely.  "It's  Miss  Blanche 
Blaisdell,  the  actress — she's  been  found  dead  here. 
The  thing  is  an  absolute  mystery.  Now  get  him,  get 
him." 

It  was  still  early  in  the  evening,  and  Kennedy  had 
not  come  in,  nor  had  he  sent  any  word  to  our  apart- 
ment. O'Connor  had  already  tried  the  laboratory. 
As  for  myself,  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  where 
Craig  was.  I  knew  the  case  must  be  urgent  if  both 
the  deputy  and  the  coroner  were  waiting  for  him. 
Still,  after  half  an  hour's  vigorous  telephoning,  I  was 
unable  to  find  a  trace  of  Kennedy  in  any  of  his  usual 
haunts. 

In  desperation  I  left  a  message  for  him  with  the 
hall-boy  in  case  he  called  up,  jumped  into  a  cab,  and 
rode  over  to  the  laboratory,  hoping  that  some  of  the 
care-takers  might  still  be  about  and  might  know  some- 


42  The  Dream  Doctor 

thing  of  his  whereabouts.  The  janitor  was  able  to 
enlighten  me  to  the  extent  of  telling  me  that  a  big 
limousine  had  called  for  Kennedy  an  hour  or  so  be- 
fore, and  that  he  had  left  in  great  haste. 

I  had  given  it  up  as  hopeless  and  had  driven  back 
to  the  apartment  to  wait  for  him,  when  the  hall-boy 
made  a  rush  at  me  just  as  I  was  paying  my  fare. 

"Mr.  Kennedy  on  the  wire,  sir,"  he  cried  as  he 
half  dragged  me  into  the  hall. 

"Walter,"  almost  shouted  Kennedy,  "I'm  over  at 
the  Washington  Heights  Hospital  with  Dr.  Barron 
— you  remember  Barron,  in  our  class  at  college? 
He  has  a  very  peculiar  case  of  a  poor  girl  whom  he 
found  wandering  on  the  street  and  brought  here. 
Most  unusual  thing.  He  came  over  to  the  laboratory 
after  me  in  his  car.  Yes,  I  have  the  message  that  you 
left  with  the  hall-boy.  Come  up  here  and  pick  me 
up,  and  we'll  ride  right  down  to  the  Novella.  Good- 
bye." 

I  had  not  stopped  to  ask  questions  and  prolong  the 
conversation,  knowing  as  I  did  the  fuming  impatience 
of  O'Connor.  It  was  relief  enough  to  know  that  Ken- 
nedy was  located  at  last. 

He  was  in  the  psychopathic  ward  with  Barron,  as 
I  hurried  in.  The  girl  whom  he  had  mentioned  over 
the  telephone  was  then  quietly  sleeping  under  the  in- 
fluence of  an  opiate,  and  they  were  discussing  the  case 
outside  in  the  hall. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it  yourself?"  Barron  was 
asking,  nodding  to  me  to  join  them.  Then  he  added 
for  my  enlightenment :  "I  found  this  girl  wandering 
bareheaded  in  the  street.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  thought 


The  Soul  Analysis  43 

at  first  that  she  was  intoxicated,  but  a  good  look 
showed  me  better  than  that.  So  I  hustled  the  poor 
thing  into  my  car  and  brought  her  here.  All  the  way 
she  kept  crying  over  and  over :  'Look,  don't  you  see 
it?  She's  afire!  Her  lips  shine — they  shine,  they 
shine.'  I  think  the  girl  is  demented  and  has  had 
some  hallucination." 

"Too  vivid  for  a  hallucination,"  remarked  Kennedy 
decisively.  "It  was  too  real  to  her.  Even  the  opiate 
couldn't  remove  the  picture,  whatever  it  was,  from, 
her  mind  until  you  had  given  her  almost  enough  to 
kill  her,  normally.  No,  that  wasn't  any  hallucina- 
tion. Now,  Walter,  I'm  ready." 


Ill 

The  Sybarite 

WE  found  the  Novella  Beauty  Parlour  on  the  top 
floor  of  an  office-building  just  off  Fifth  Ave- 
nue on  a  side  street  not  far  from  Forty-second  Street. 
A  special  elevator,  elaborately  fitted  up,  wafted  us 
up  with  express  speed.  As  the  door  opened  we  saw 
a  vista  of  dull-green  lattices,  little  gateways  hung 
with  roses,  windows  of  diamond-paned  glass  set  in 
white  wood,  rooms  with  little  white  enamelled  mani- 
cure-tables and  chairs,  amber  lights  glowing  with  soft 
incandescence  in  deep  bowers  of  fireproof  tissue  flow- 
ers. There  was  a  delightful  warmth  about  the  place, 
and  the  seductive  scents  and  delicate  odours  be- 
tokened the  haunt  of  the  twentieth-century  Sybarite. 

Both  O'Connor  and  Leslie,  strangely  out  of  place 
in  the  enervating  luxury  of  the  now  deserted  beauty- 
parlour,  were  still  waiting  for  Kennedy  with  a  grim 
determination. 

"A  most  peculiar  thing,"  whispered  O'Connor,  dash- 
ing forward  the  moment  the  elevator  door  opened. 
"We  can't  seem  to  find  a  single  cause  for  her  death. 
The  people  up  here  say  it  was  a  suicide,  but  I  never 
accept  the  theory  of  suicide  unless  there  are  un- 
doubted proofs.  So  far  there  have  been  none  in  this 
case.  There  was  no  reason  for  it." 

Seated  in  one  of  the  large  easy-chairs  of  the  recep- 

44 


The  Sybarite  45 

tion-room,  in  a  corner  with,  two  of  O'Connor's  men 
standing  watchfully  near,  was  a  man  who  was  the 
embodiment  of  all  that  was  nervous.  He  was  alter- 
nately wringing  his  hands  and  rumpling  his  hair. 
Beside  him  was  a  middle-sized,  middle-aged  lady  in  a 
most  amazing  state  of  preservation,  who  evidently 
presided  over  the  cosmetic  mysteries  beyond  the  male 
ken.  She  was  so  perfectly  groomed  that  she  looked 
as  though  her  clothes  were  a  mould  into  which  she 
had  literally  been  poured. 

"Professor  and  Madame  Millefleur — otherwise  Mil- 
ler,"— whispered  O'Connor,  noting  Kennedy's  ques- 
tioning gaze  and  taking  his  arm  to  hurry  him  down 
a  long,  softly  carpeted  corridor,  flanked  on  either 
side  by  little  doors.  "They  run  the  shop.  They  say 
one  of  the  girls  just  opened  the  door  and  found  her 
dead." 

Near  the  end,  one  of  the  doors  stood  open,  and  be- 
fore it  Dr.  Leslie,  who  had  preceded  us,  paused.  He 
motioned  to  us  to  look  in.  It  was  a  little  dressing- 
room,  containing  a  single  white-enamelled  bed,  a 
dresser,  and  a  mirror.  But  it  was  not  the  scant 
though  elegant  furniture  that  caused  us  to  start  back. 

There  under  the  dull  half-light  of  the  corridor  lay 
a  woman,  most  superbly  formed.  She  was  dark,  and 
the  thick  masses  of  her  hair,  ready  for  the  hair- 
dresser, fell  in  a  tangle  over  her  beautifully  chiselled 
features  and  full,  rounded  shoulders  and  neck.  A 
scarlet  bathrobe,  loosened  at  the  throat,  actually 
accentuated  rather  than  covered  the  voluptuous  lines 
of  her  figure,  down  to  the  slender  ankle  which  had 
been  the  beginning  of  her  fortune  as  a  danseuse. 


46  The  Dream  Doctor 

Except  for  the  marble  pallor  of  her  face  it  was  dif- 
ficult to  believe  that  she  was  not  sleeping.  And  yet 
there  she  was,  the  famous  Blanche  Blaisdell,  dead — 
dead  in  the  little  dressing-room  of  the  Novella  Beauty 
Parlour,  surrounded  as  in  life  by  mystery  and  lux- 
ury. 

We  stood  for  several  moments  speechless,  stupefied. 
At  last  O'Connor  silently  drew  a  letter  from  his 
pocket.  It  was  written  on  the  latest  and  most  deli- 
cate of  scented  stationery. 

"It  was  lying  sealed  on  the  dresser  when  we  ar- 
rived," explained  O'Connor,  holding  it  so  that  we 
could  not  see  the  address.  "I  thought  at  first  she  had 
really  committed  suicide  and  that  this  was  a  note  of 
explanation.  But  it  is  not.  Listen.  It  is  just  a 
line  or  two.  It  reads:  'Am  feeling  better  now, 
though  that  was  a  great  party  last  night.  Thanks 
for  the  newspaper  puff  which  I  have  just  read.  It 
was  very  kind  of  you  to  get  them  to  print  it.  Meet 
me  at  the  same  place  and  same  time  to-night.  Your 
Blanche.'  The  note  was  not  stamped,  and  was  never 
sent.  Perhaps  she  rang  for  a  messenger.  At  an> 
rate,  she  must  have  been  dead  before  she  could  send 
it.  But  it  was  addressed  to — Burke  Collins." 

"Burke  Collins!"  exclaimed  Kennedy  and  I  to- 
gether in  amazement. 

He  was  one  of  the  leading  corporation  lawyers  in 
the  country,  director  in  a  score  of  the  largest  com* 
panics,  officer  in  half  a  dozen  charities  and  social  or- 
ganisations, patron  of  art  and  opera.  It  seemed  im 
possible,  and  I  at  least  did  not  hesitate  to  say  so. 


The  Sybarite  47 

answer  O'Connor  simply  laid  the  letter  and  envelope 
down  on  the  dresser. 

It  seemed  to  take  some  time  to  convince  Kennedy. 
There  it  was  in  black  and  white,  however,  in 
Blanche  Blaisdell's  own  vertical  hand.  Try  to  figure 
it  out  as  I  could,  there  seemed  to  be  only  one  conclu- 
sion, and  that  was  to  accept  it.  What  it  was  that  in- 
terested him  I  did  not  know,  but  finally  he  bent  down 
and  sniffed,  not  at  the  scented  letter,  but  at  the  cover- 
ing on  the  dresser.  When  he  raised  his  head  I  saw 
that  he  had  not  been  looking  at  the  letter  at  all,  but 
at  a  spot  on  the  cover  near  it. 

"Sn-ff,  sn-ff,"  he  sniffed,  thoughtfully  closing  his 
eyes  as  if  considering  something.  "Yes — oil  of  tur- 
pentine." 

Suddenly  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  the  blank  look  of 
abstraction  that  had  masked  his  face  was  broken 
through  by  a  gleam  of  comprehension  that  I  knew 
flashed  the  truth  to  him  intuitively. 

"Turn  out  that  light  in  the  corridor,"  he  ordered 
quickly. 

Dr.  Leslie  found  and  turned  the  switch.  There  we 
were  alone,  in  the  now  weird  little  dressing-room, 
alone  with  that  horribly  lovely  thing  lying  there  cold 
and  motionless  on  the  little  white  bed. 

Kennedy  moved  forward  in  the  darkness.  Gently, 
almost  as  if  she  were  still  the  living,  pulsing,  sentient 
Blanche  Blaisdell  who  had  entranced  thousands,  he 
opened  her  mouth. 

A  cry  from  O'Connor,  who  was  standing  in  front  of 
me,  followed.  "What's  that,  those  little  spots  on  her 


48  The  Dream  Doctor 

tongue  and  throat?  They  glow.  It  is  the  corpse 
light!" 

Surely  enough,  there  were  little  luminous  spots  in 
her  mouth.  I  had  heard  somewhere  that  there  is  a 
phosphorescence  appearing  during  decay  of  organic 
substances  which  once  gave  rise  to  the  ancient  super- 
'stition  of  "corpse  lights"  and  the  will-o'-the-wisp.  It 
was  realty  due,  I  knew,  to  living  bacteria.  But  there 
/surely  had  been  no  time  for  such  micro-organisms  to 
develop,  even  in  the  almost  tropic  heat  of  the  Novella. 
Could  she  have  been  poisoned  by  these  phosphores- 
cent bacilli?  What  was  it — a  strange  new  mouth- 
malady  that  had  attacked  this  notorious  adventuress 
and  woman  of  luxury? 

Leslie  had  flashed  up  the  light  again  before  Craig 
spqke.  We  were  all  watching  him  keenly. 

"Phosphorus,  phosphoric  acid,  or  phosphoric  salve," 
Craig  said  slowly,  looking  eagerly  about  the  room 
as  if  in  search  of  something  that  would  explain  it. 
He  caught  sight  of  the  envelope  still  lying  on  the 
dresser.  He  picked  it  up,  toyed  with  it,  looked  at 
the  top  where  O'Connor  had  slit  it,  then  deliberately 
tore  the  flap  off  the  back  where  it  had  been  glued  in 
sealing  the  letter. 

"Put  the  light  out  again,"   he  asked. 

Where  the  thin  line  of  gum  was  on  the  back  of  the 
flap,  in  the  darkness  there  glowed  the  same  sort  of 
brightness  that  we  had  seen  in  a  speck  here  and  there 
on  Blanche  BlaisdelPs  lips  and  in  her  mouth.  The 
truth  flashed  over  me.  Some  one  had  placed  the 
stuff,  whatever  it  was,  on  the  flap  of  the  envelope, 
knowing  that  she  must  touch  her  lips  to  it  to  seal  it 


The  Sybarite  49 

She  had  done  so,  and  the  deadly  poison  had  entered 
her  mouth. 

As  the  light  went  up  again  Kennedy  added:  "Oil 
of  turpentine  removes  traces  of  phosphorus,  phos- 
phoric acid,  or  phosphoric  salve,  which  are  insoluble 
in  anything  else  except  ether  and  absolute  alcohol. 
Some  one  who  knew  that  tried  to  eradicate  them,  but 
did  not  wholly  succeed.  O'Connor,  see  if  you  can 
find  either  phosphorus,  the  oil,  or  the  salve  anywhere 
in  the  shop." 

Then  as  O'Connor  and  Leslie  hurriedly  disappeared 
he  added  to  me:  "Another  of  those  strange  coinci- 
dences, Walter.  You  remember  the  girl  at  the  hos- 
pital? 'Look,  don't  you  see  it?  She's  afire.  Her 
lips  shine — they  shine,  they  shine !' ' 

Kennedy  was  still  looking  carefully  over  the  room. 
In  a  little  wicker  basket  was  a  newspaper  which  was 
open  at  the  page  of  theatrical  news,  and  as  I  glanced 
quickly  at  it  I  saw  a  most  laudatory  paragraph  about 
her. 

Beneath  the  paper  were  some  torn  scraps.  Ken- 
nedy picked  them  up  and  pieced  them  together. 
"Dearest  Blanche,"  they  read.  "I  hope  you're  feel- 
ing better  after  that  dinner  last  night.  Can  you 
meet  me  to-night?  Write  me  immediately.  Collie." 

He  placed  the  scraps  carefully  in  his  wallet. 
There  was  nothing  more  to  be  done  here  apparently. 
As  we  passed  down  the  corridor  we  could  hear  a  man 
apparently  raving  in  good  English  and  bad  French. 
It  proved  to  be  Millefleur — or  Miller — and  his  raving 
was  as  overdone  as  that  of  a  third-rate  actor.  Ma- 
dame was  trying  to  calm  him. 


50  The  Dream  Doctor 

"Henri,  Henri,  don't  go  on  so,"  she  was  saying. 

"A  suicide — in  the  Novella.  It  will  be  in  all  tht 
papers.  We  shall  be  ruined.  Oh — oh!" 

"Here,  can  that  sob  stuff,"  broke  in  one  of  O'Con- 
nor's officers.  "You  can  tell  it  all  when  the  chief 
takes  you  to  headquarters,  see?" 

Certainly  the  man  made  no  very  favourable  impres- 
sion by  his  actions.  There  seemed  to  be  much  that 
was  forced  about  them,  that  was  more  incriminating 
than  a  stolid  silence  would  have  been. 

Between  them  Monsieur  and  Madame  made  out, 
however,  to  repeat  to  Kennedy  their  version  of  what 
had  happened.  It  seemed  that  a  note  addressed  to 
Miss  Blaisdell  had  been  left  by  some  one  on  the  desk 
in  the  reception-room.  No  one  knew  who  left  it,  but 
one  of  the  girls  had  picked  it  up  and  delivered  it  to 
her  in  her  dressing-room.  A  moment  later  she  rang 
her  bell  and  called  for  one  of  the  girls  named  Agnes, 
who  was  to  dress  her  hair.  Agnes  was  busy,  and  the 
actress  asked  her  to  get  paper,  a  pen,  and  ink.  At 
least  it  seemed  that  way,  for  Agnes  got  them  for  her. 
A  few  minutes  later  her  bell  rang  again,  and  Agnes 
went  down,  apparently  to  tell  her  that  she  was  now 
ready  to  dress  her  hair. 

The  next  thing  any  one  knew  was  a  piercing  shriek 
from  the  girl.  She  ran  down  the  corridor,  still  shriek- 
ing, out  into  the  reception-room  and  rushed  into  the 
elevator,  which  happened  to  be  up  at  the  time.  That 
was  the  last  they  had  seen  of  her.  The  other  girls 
saw  Miss  Blaisdell  lying  dead,  and  a  panic  followed. 
The  customers  dressed  quickly  and  fled,  almost  in 
panic.  All  was  confusion.  By  that  time  a  police- 


The  Sybarite  51 

man  had  arrived,  and  soon  after  O'Connor  and  the 
coroner  had  come. 

There  was  little  use  in  cross-questioning  the  couple. 
They  had  evidently  had  time  to  agree  on  the  story; 
that  is,  supposing  it  were  not  true.  Only  a  scientific 
third  degree  could  have  shaken  them,  and  such  a  thing 
was  impossible  just  at  that  time. 

From  the  line  of  Kennedy's  questions  I  could  see 
that  he  believed  that  there  was  a  hiatus  somewhere  in 
their  glib  story,  at  least  some  point  where  some  one 
had  tried  to  eradicate  the  marks  of  the  poison. 

"Here  it  is.  We  found  it,"  interrupted  O'Connor, 
holding  up  in  his  excitement  a  bottle  covered  with 
black  cloth  to  protect  it  from  the  light.  "It  was  in 
the  back  of  a  cabinet  in  the  operating-room,  and  it 
is  marked  'Ether  phosphoreV  Another  of  oil  of  tur- 
pentine was  on  a  shelf  in  another  cabinet.  Both  seem 
to  have  been  used  lately,  judging  by  the  wetness  of 
the  bottoms  of  the  glass  stoppers." 

"Ether  phosphore,  phosphorated  ether,"  com- 
mented Kennedy,  reading  the  label  to  himself.  "A 
remedy  from  the  French  Codex,  composed,  if  I  re- 
member rightly,  of  one  part  phosphorus  and  fifty 
parts  sulphuric  ether.  Phosphorus  is  often  given  as 
a  remedy  for  loss  of  nerve  power,  neuralgia,  hysteria, 
and  melancholia.  In  quantities  from  a  fiftieth  to  a 
tenth  or  so  of  a  grain  free  phosphorus  is  a  renovator 
of  nerve  tissue  and  nerve  force,  a  drug  for  intense  and 
long-sustained  anxiety  of  mind  and  protracted  emo- 
tional excitement — in  short,  for  fast  living." 

He  uncorked  the  bottle,  and  we  tasted  the  stuff. 
It  was  unpleasant  and  nauseous.  "I  don't  see  why 


52  The  Dream  Doctor 

it  wasn't  used  in  the  form  of  pills.  The  liquid  form 
of  a  few  drops  on  gum  arable  is  hopelessly  anti- 
quated." 

The  elevator  door  opened  with  a  clang,  and  a  well- 
built,  athletic  looking  man  of  middle  age  with  an 
acquired  youngish  look  about  his  clothes  and  clean- 
shaven face  stepped  out.  His  face  was  pale,  and  his 
hand  shook  with  emotion  that  showed  that  something 
had  unstrung  his  usually  cast-iron  nerves.  I  recog- 
nised Burke  Collins  at  once. 

In  spite  of  his  nervousness  he  strode  forward  with 
the  air  of  a  man  accustomed  to  being  obeyed,  to  hav- 
ing everything  done  for  him  merely  because  he,  Burke 
Collins,  could  afford  to  pay  for  it  and  it  was  his  right. 
He  seemed  to  know  whom  he  was  seeking,  for  he  im- 
mediately singled  out  O'Connor. 

"This  is  terrible,  terrible,"  he  whispered  hoarsely. 
"No,  no,  no,  I  don't  want  to  see  her.  I  can't,  not  yet. 
You  know  I  thought  the  world  of  that  poor  little  girl. 
Only,"  and  here  the  innate  selfishness  of  the  man 
cropped  out,  "only  I  called  to  ask  you  that  nothing 
of  my  connection  with  her  be  given  out.  You  under- 
stand? Spare  nothing  to  get  at  the  truth.  Employ 
the  best  men  you  have.  Get  outside  help  if  neces- 
sary. I'll  pay  for  anything,  anything.  Perhaps  I 
can  use  some  influence  for  you  some  day,  too.  But, 
you  understand — the  scandal,  you  know.  Not  a  word 
to  the  newspapers." 

At  another  time  I  feel  sure  that  O'Connor  would 
iiave  succumbed.  Collins  was  not  without  a  great 
deal  of  political  influence,  and  even  a  first  deputy  may 
be  "broke"  by  a  man  with  influence.  But  now  here 


The  Sybarite  53 

was  Kennedy,  and  he  wished  to  appear  in  the  best 
light. 

He  looked  at  Craig.  "Let  me  introduce  Professor 
Kennedy,"  he  said.  "I've  already  called  him  in." 

"Very  happy  to  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you," 
said  Collins,  grasping  Kennedy's  hand  warmly.  "I 
hope  you  will  take  me  as  your  client  in  this  case.  I'll 
pay  handsomely.  I've  always  had  a  great  admira- 
tion for  your  work,  and  I've  heard  a  great  deal  about 
it." 

Kennedy  is,  if  anything,  as  impervious  to  blandish- 
ment as  a  stone,  as  the  Blarney  Stone  is  itself,  for 
instance.  "On  one  condition,"  he  replied  slowly, 
"and  that  is  that  I  go  ahead  exactly  as  if  I  were  em- 
ployed by  the  city  itself  to  get  at  the  truth." 

Collins  bit  his  lip.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  not 
accustomed  to  being  met  in  this  independent  spirit. 
"Very  well,"  he  answered  at  last.  "O'Connor  has 
called  you  in.  Work  for  him  and — well,  you  know, 
if  you  need  anything  just  draw  on  me  for  it.  Only 
if  you  can,  keep  me  out  of  it.  I'll  tell  everything  I 
can  to  help  you — but  not  to  the  newspapers." 

He  beckoned  us  outside.  "Those  people  in  there," 
he  nodded  his  head  back  in  the  direction  of  the  Mil\e- 
fleurs,  "do  you  suspect  them?  By  George,  it  does 
look  badly  for  them,  doesn't  it,  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it?  Well,  now,  you  see,  I'm  frank  and  con- 
fidential about  my  relations  with  Blan — er — Miss 
Blaisdell.  I  was  at  a  big  dinner  with  her  last  night 
with  a  party  of  friends.  I  suppose  she  came  here  to 
get  straightened  out.  I  hadn't  been  able  to  get  her 
on  the  wire  to-day,  but  at  the  theatre  when  I  called 


54  The  Dream  Doctor 

up  they  told  me  what  had  happened,  and  I  came  right 
over  here.  Now  please  remember,  do  everything,  any- 
thing but  create  a  scandal.  You  realise  what  that 
would  mean  for  me." 

Kennedy  said  nothing.  He  simply  laid  down  on 
the  desk,  piece  by  piece,  the  torn  letter  which  he  had 
picked  up  from  the  basket,  and  beside  it  he  spread 
out  the  reply  which  Blanche  had  written. 

"What?"  gasped  Collins  as  he  read  the  torn  letter. 
"I  send  that?  Why,  man  alive,  you're  crazy.  Didn't 
I  just  tell  you  I  hadn't  heard  from  her  until  I  called 
up  the  theatre  just  now?" 

I  could  not  make  out  whether  he  was  lying  or  not 
when  he  said  that  he  had  not  sent  the  note.  Kennedy 
picked  up  a  pen.  "Please  write  the  same  thing  as 
you  read  in  the  note  on  this  sheet  of  the  Novella 
paper.  It  will  be  all  right.  You  have  plenty  of  wit- 
nesses to  that." 

It  must  have  irked  Collins  even  to  have  his  word 
doubted,  but  Kennedy  was  no  respecter  of  persons. 
He  took  the  pen  and  wrote. 

"I'll  keep  your  name  out  of  it  as  much  as  possible," 
remarked  Kennedy,  glancing  intently  at  the  writing 
and  blotting  it. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Collins  simply,  for  once  in  his 
life  at  a  loss  for  words.  Once  more  he  whispered  to 
O'Connor,  then  he  excused  himself.  The  man  was 
so  obviously  sincere,  I  felt,  as  far  as  his  selfish  and 
sensual  limitations  would  permit,  that  I  would  not 
have  blamed  Kennedy  for  giving  him  much  more  en- 
couragement than  he  had  given. 

Kennedy  was  not  through  yet,  and  now  turned 


The  Sybarite  55 

quickly  again  to  the  cosmetic  arcadia  which  had  been 
so  rudely  stirred  by  the  tragedy. 

"Who  is  this  girl  Agnes  who  discovered  Miss  Blais- 
dell?"  he  shot  out  at  the  Millefleurs. 

The  beauty-doctor  was  now  really  painful  in  his 
excitement.  Like  his  establishment,  even  his  feelings 
were  artificial. 

"Agnes?"  he  repeated.  "Why,  she  was  one  of 
Madame's  best  hair-dressers.  See — my  dear — show 
the  gentlemen  the  book  of  engagements." 

It  was  a  large  book  full  of  girls'  names,  each  an 
expert  in  curls,  puffs,  "reinforcements,"  hygienic 
rolls,  transformators,  and  the  numberless  other  things 
that  made  the  fearful  and  wonderful  hair-dresses  of 
the  day.  Agnes's  dates  were  full,  for  a  day  ahead. 

Kennedy  ran  his  eye  over  the  list  of  patrons.  "Mrs. 
Burke  Collins,  3:30,"  he  read.  "Was  she  a  patron, 
too?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  Madame.  "She  used  to  come 
here  three  times  a  week.  It  was  not  vanity.  We  all 
knew  her,  and  we  all  liked  her." 

Instantly  I  could  read  between  the  lines,  and  I  felt 
that  I  had  been  too  charitable  to  Burke  Collins.  Here 
was  the  wife  slaving  to  secure  that  beauty  which  would 
win  back  the  man  with  whom  she  had  worked  and 
toiled  in  the  years  before  they  came  to  New  York  and 
success.  The  "other  woman"  came  here,  too,  but  for 
a  very  different  reason. 

Nothing  but  business  seemed  to  impress  Millefleur, 
however.  "Oh,  yes,"  he  volunteered,  "we  have  a  fine 
class.  Among  my  own  patients  I  have  Hugh  Dayton, 
the  actor,  you  know,  leading  man  in  Blanche  Blais- 


56  The  Dream  Doctor 

dell's  company.  He  is  having  his  hair  restored. 
Why,  I  gave  him  a  treatment  this  afternoon.  If  ever 
there  is  a  crazy  man,  it  is  he.  I  believe  he  would  kill 
Mr.  Collins  for  the  way  Blanche  Blaisdell  treats  him. 
They  were  engaged — but,  oh,  well,"  he  gave  a  very 
good  imitation  of  a  French  shrug,  "it  is  all  over  now. 
Neither  of  them  will  get  her,  and  I — I  am  ruined. 
Who  will  come  to  the  Novella  now?" 

Adjoining  Millefleur's  own  room  was  the  writing- 
room  from  which  the  poisoned  envelope  had  been 
taken  to  Miss  Blaisdell.  Over  the  little  secretary 
was  the  sign,  "No  woman  need  be  plain  who  will  visit 
the  Novella,"  evidently  the  motto  of  the  place.  The 
hair-dressing  room  was  next  to  the  little  writing-room. 
There  were  manicure  rooms,  steam-rooms,  massage- 
rooms,  rooms  of  all  descriptions,  all  bearing  mute  tes- 
timony to  the  fundamental  instinct,  the  feminine  long- 
ing for  personal  beauty. 

Though  it  was  late  when  Kennedy  had  finished  his 
investigation,  he  insisted  on  going  directly  to  his  lab- 
oratory. There  he  pulled  out  from  a  corner  a  sort 
of  little  square  table  on  which  was  fixed  a  powerful 
light  such  as  might  be  used  for  a  stereopticon. 

"This  is  a  simple  little  machine,"  he  explained,  as 
he  pasted  together  the  torn  bits  of  the  letter  which 
he  had  fished  out  of  the  scrap-basket,  "which  detec- 
tives use  in  studying  forgeries.  I  don't  know  that  it 
has  a  name,  although  it  might  be  called  a  'rayograph.' 
You  see,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  lay  the  thing  you  wish 
to  study  flat  here,  and  the  system  of  mirrors  and  lenses 
reflects  it  and  enlarges  it  on  a  sheet." 

He  had  lowered  a  rolled-up  sheet  of  white  at  the 


The  Sybarite  57 

opposite  end  of  the  room,  and  there,  in  huge  char- 
acters, stood  forth  plainly  the  writing  of  the  note. 

"This  letter,"  he  resumed,  studying  the  enlarge- 
ment carefully,  "is  likely  to  prove  crucial.  It's  very 
queer.  Collins  says  he  didn't  write  it,  and  if  he  did 
he  surely  is  a  wonder  at  disguising  his  hand.  I  doubt 
if  any  one  could  disguise  what  the  rayograph  shows. 
Now,  for  instance,  this  is  very  important.  Do  you 
see  how  those  strokes  of  the  long  letters  are — well, 
wobbly?  You'd  never  see  that  in  the  original,  but 
when  it  is  enlarged  you  see  how  plainly  visible  the 
tremors  of  the  hand  become?  Try  as  you  may,  you 
can't  conceal  them.  The  fact  is  that  the  writer  of 
this  note  suffered  from  a  form  of  heart  disease.  Now 
let  us  look  at  the  copy  that  Collins  made  at  the  No- 
vella." 

He  placed  the  copy  on  the  table  of  the  rayograph. 
It  was  quite  evident  that  the  two  had  been  written 
by  entirely  different  persons.  "I  thought  he  was  tell- 
ing the  truth,"  commented  Craig,  "by  the  surprised 
look  on  his  face  the  moment  I  mentioned  the  note 
to  Miss  Blaisdell.  Now  I  know  he  was.  There  is  no 
such  evidence  of  heart  trouble  in  his  writing  as  in 
the  other.  Of  course  that's  all  aside  from  what  a 
study  of  the  handwriting  itself  might  disclose.  They 
are  not  similar  at  all.  But  there  is  an  important 
clue  there.  Find  the  writer  of  that  note  who  has 
heart  trouble,  and  we  either  have  the  murderer  or 
some  one  close  to  the  murderer." 

I  remembered  the  tremulousness  of  the  little 
beauty-doctor,  his  third-rate  artificial  acting  of  fear 
for  the  reputation  of  the  Novella,  and  I  must  confess 


58  The  Dream  Doctor 

I  agreed  with  O'Connor  and  Collins  that  it  looked 
black  for  him.  At  one  time  I  had  suspected  Collins 
himself,  but  now  I  could  see  perfectly  why  he  had 
not  concealed  his  anxiety  to  hush  up  his  connection 
with  the  case,  while  at  the  same  time  his  instinct  as 
a  lawyer,  and  I  had  almost  added,  lover,  told  him 
that  justice  must  be  done.  I  saw  at  once  how,  ac- 
customed as  he  was  to  weigh  evidence,  he  had  im- 
mediately seen  the  justification  for  O'Connor's  arrest 
of  the  Millefleurs. 

"More  than  that,"  added  Kennedy,  after  examining 
the  fibres  of  the  paper  under  a  microscope,  "all  these 
notes  are  written  on  the  same  kind  of  paper.  That 
first  torn  note  to  Miss  Blaisdell  was  written  right  in 
the  Novella  and  left  so  as  to  seem  to  have  been  sent 
in  from  outside." 

It  was  early  the  following  morning  when  Kennedy 
roused  me  with  the  remark:  "I  think  I'll  go  up  to 
the  hospital.  Do  you  want  to  come  along?  We'll 
stop  for  Barron  on  the  way.  There  is  a  little  ex^ 
periment  I  want  to  try  on  that  girl  up  there." 

When  we  arrived,  the  nurse  in  charge  of  the  ward 
told  us  that  her  patient  had  passed  a  fairly  good  night, 
but  that  now  that  the  influence  of  the  drug  had  worn 
off  she  was  again  restless  and  still  repeating  the 
words  that  she  had  said  over  and  over  before.  Nor 
had  she  been  able  to  give  any  clearer  account  of  her- 
self. Apparently  she  had  been  alone  in  the  city,  fop 
although  there  was  a  news  item  about  her  in  the  morn- 
ing papers,  so  far  no  relative  or  friend  had  called  to. 
identify  her. 

Kennedy  had  placed  himself  directly  before  her,  Us- 


The  Sybarite  59 

tening  intently  to  her  ravings.  Suddenly  he  managed 
to  fix  her  eye,  as  if  by  a  sort  of  hypnotic  influence. 

"Agnes!"  he  called  in  a  sharp  tone. 

The  name  seemed  to  arrest  her  fugitive  attention. 
Before  she  could  escape  from  his  mental  grasp  again 
he  added :  "Your  date-book  is  full.  Aren't  you  going 
to  the  Novella  this  morning?" 

The  change  in  her  was  something  wonderful  to  see. 
It  was  as  though  she  had  come  out  of  a  trance.  She 
sat  up  in  bed  and  gazed  about  blankly. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  must  go,"  she  cried  as  if  it  were  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  Then  she  realised 
the  strange  surroundings  and  faces.  "Where  is  my 
hat — wh-where  am  I?  What  has  happened?" 

"You  are  all  right,"  soothed  Kennedy  gently. 
"Now  rest.  Try  to  forget  everything  for  a  little  while, 
and  you  will  be  all  right.  You  are  among  friends." 

As  Kennedy  led  us  out  she  fell  back,  now  physically 
exhausted,  on  the  pillow. 

"I  told  you,  Barron,"  he  whispered,  "that  there  was 
more  to  this  case  than  you  imagined.  Unwittingly 
you  brought  me  a  very  important  contribution  to  a 
case  of  which  the  papers  are  full  this  morning,  the 
case  of  the  murdered  actress,  Blanche  Blaisdefl." 


IV 


IT  was  only  after  a  few  hours  that  Kennedy  thought 
it  wise  to  try  to  question  the  poor  girl  at  the  hos- 
pital. Her  story  was  simple  enough  in  itself,  but  it 
certainly  complicated  matters  considerably  without 
throwing  much  light  on  the  case.  She  had  been  busy 
because  her  day  was  full,  and  she  had  yet  to  dress 
the  hair  of  Miss  Blaisdell  for  her  play  that  night. 
Several  times  she  had  been  interrupted  by  impatient 
messages  from  the  actress  in  her  little  dressing-booth, 
and  one  of  the  girls  had  already  demolished  the  previ- 
ous hair-dressing  in  order  to  save  time.  Once  Agnes 
had  run  down  for  a  few  seconds  to  reassure  her  that 
she  would  be  through  in  time. 

She  had  found  the  actress  reading  a  newspaper, 
and  when  Kennedy  questioned  her  she  remembered 
seeing  a  note  lying  on  the  dresser.  "Agnes,"  Miss 
Blaisdell  had  said,  "will  you  go  into  the  writing-room 
and  bring  me  some  paper,  a  pen,  and  ink?  I  don't 
want  to  go  in  there  this  way.  There's  a  dear  good 
girl."  Agnes  had  gone,  though  it  was  decidedly  no 
part  of  her  duty  as  one  of  the  highest  paid  employes 
of  the  Novella.  But  they  all  envied  the  popular 
actress,  and  were  ready  to  do  anything  for  her.  The 
next  thing  she  remembered  was  finishing  the  coiffure 
she  was  working  on  and  going  to  Miss  Blaisdell. 

60 


The  Beauty  Shop  (51 

There  lay  the  beautiful  actress.  The  light  in  the  cor- 
ridor had  not  been  lighted  yet,  and  it  was  dark.  Her 
lips  and  mouth  seemed  literally  to  shine.  Agnes 
called  her,  but  she  did  not  move ;  she  touched  her,  but 
she  was  cold.  Then  she  screamed  and  fled.  That 
was  the  last  she  remembered. 

"The  little  writing-room,"  reasoned  Kennedy  as  we 
left  the  poor  little  hair-dresser  quite  exhausted  by  her 
narrative,  "was  next  to  the  sanctum  of  Millefleur, 
where  they  found  that  bottle  of  ether  phosphore  and 
the  oil  of  turpentine.  Some  one  who  knew  of  that 
note  or  perhaps  wrote  it  must  have  reasoned  that  an 
answer  would  be  written  immediately.  That  person 
figured  that  the  note  would  be  the  next  thing  written 
and  that  the  top  envelope  of  the  pile  would  be  used. 
That  person  knew  of  the  deadly  qualities  of  too  much 
phosphorised  ether,  and  painted  the  gummed  flap  of 
the  envelope  with  several  grains  of  it.  The  reason- 
ing held  good,  for  Agnes  took  the  top  envelope  with 
its  poisoned  flap  to  Miss  Blaisdell.  No,  there  was 
no  chance  about  that.  It  was  all  clever,  quick  rea- 
soning." 

"But,"  I  objected,  "how  about  the  oil  of  turpen- 
tine?" 

"Simply  to  remove  the  traces  of  the  poison.  I 
'think  you  will  see  why  that  was  attempted  before  we 
get  through." 

Kennedy  would  say  no  more,  but  I  was  content 
because  I  could  see  that  he  was  now  ready  to  put  his 
theories,  whatever  they  were,  to  the  final  test.  He 
spent  the  rest  of  the  day  working  at  the  hospital  with 
Dr.  Barren,  adjusting  a  very  delicate  piece  of  ap« 


62  The  Dream  Doctor 

paratus  down  in  a  special  room  in  the  basement.  I 
saw  it,  but  I  had  no  idea  what  it  was  or  what  its  use 
might  be. 

Close  to  the  wall  was  a  stereopticon  which  shot 
a  beam  of  light  through  a  tube  to  which  I  heard  them 
refer  as  a  galvanometer,  about  three  feet  distant.  In 
front  of  this  beam  whirled  a  five-spindled  wheel,  gov- 
erned by  a  chronometer  which  erred  only  a  second 
a  day.  Between  the  poles  of  the  galvanometer  was 
stretched  a  slender  thread  of  fused  quartz  plated  with 
silver,  only  one  one-thousandth  of  a  millimetre  in 
diameter,  so  tenuous  that  it  could  not  be  seen  except 
in  a  bright  light.  It  was  a  thread  so  slender  that  it 
might  have  been  spun  by  a  miscroscopic  spider. 

Three  feet  farther  away  was  a  camera  with  a  mov- 
ing film  of  sensitised  material,  the  turning  of  which 
was  regulated  by  a  little  flywheel.  The  beam  of  light 
focused  on  the  thread  in  the  galvanometer  passed  to 
the  photographic  film,  intercepted  only  by  the  five 
spindles  of  the  wheel,  which  turned  once  a  second, 
thus  marking  the  picture  off  into  exact  fifths  of  a 
second.  The  vibrations  of  the  microscopic  quartz 
thread  were  enormously  magnified  on  the  sensitive 
film  by  a  lens  and  resulted  in  producing  a  long  zig- 
zag, wavy  line.  The  whole  was  shielded  by  a  wooden 
hood  which  permitted  no  light,  except  the  slender 
ray,  to  strike  it.  The  film  revolved  slowly  across  the 
field,  its  speed  regulated  by  the  flywheel,  and  all 
moved  by  an  electric  motor. 

I  was  quite  surprised,  then,  when  Kennedy  told 
me  that  the  final  tests  which  he  was  arranging  were 
not  to  be  held  at  the  hospital  at  all,  but  in  his  labor- 


The  Beauty  Shop  68 

atory,  the  scene  of  so  many  of  his  scientific  triumphs 
over  the  cleverest  of  criminals. 

While  he  and  Dr.  Barron  were  still  fussing  with 
the  machine  he  despatched  me  on  the  rather  ticklish, 
errand  of  gathering  together  all  those  who  had  been 
at  the  Novella  at  the  time  and  might  possibly  prove 
important  in  the  case. 

My  first  visit  was  to  Hugh  Dayton,  whom  I  found 
in  his  bachelor  apartment  on  Madison  Avenue,  ap- 
parently waiting  for  me.  One  of  O'Connor's  men 
had  already  warned  him  that  any  attempt  to  evade 
putting  in  an  appearance  when  he  was  wanted  would 
be  of  no  avail.  He  had  been  shadowed  from  the  mo- 
ment that  it  was  learned  that  he  was  a  patient  of 
Millefleur's  and  had  been  at  the  Novella  that  fatal 
afternoon.  He  seemed  to  realise  that  escape  was  im- 
possible. Dayton  was  one  of  those  typical  young  fel- 
lows, tall,  with  sloping  shoulders  and  a  carefully  ac- 
quired English  manner,  whom  one  sees  in  scores  on 
Fifth  Avenue  late  in  the  afternoon.  His  face,  which 
on  the  stage  was  forceful  and  attractive,  was  not  pre- 
possessing at  close  range.  Indeed  it  showed  too  evi- 
dent marks  of  excesses,  both  physical  and  moral,  and 
his  hand  was  none  too  steady.  Still,  he  was  an  in- 
teresting personality,  if  not  engaging. 

I  was  also  charged  with  delivering  a  note  to  Burke 
Collins  at  his  office.  The  purport  of  it  was,  I  knew, 
a  request  couched  in  language  that  veiled  a  summons 
that  Mrs.  Collins  was  of  great  importance  in  getting 
at  the  truth,  and  that  if  he  needed  an  excuse  himself 
for  being  present  it  was  suggested  that  he  appear  as 
protecting  his  wife's  interests  as  a  lawyer.  Kennedy 

5 


64  The  Dream  Doctor 

had  added  that  I  might  tell  him  orally  that  he  would 
pass  orer  the  scandal  as  lightly  as  possible  and  spare 
the  feelings  of  both  as  much  as  he  could.  I  was 
rather  relieved  when  this  mission  was  accomplished, 
for  I  had  expected  Collins  to  demur  violently. 

Those  who  gathered  that  night,  sitting  expectantly 
in  the  little  armchairs  which  Kennedy's  students 
used  during  his  lectures,  included  nearly  every  one 
who  could  cast  any  light  on  what  had  happened  at 
the  Novella.  Professor  and  Madame  Millefleur  were 
brought  up  from  the  house  of  detention,  to  which  both 
O'Connor  and  Dr.  Leslie  had  insisted  that  they  be 
sent.  Millefleur  was  still  bewailing  the  fate  of  the 
Novella,  and  Madame  had  begun  to  show  evidences 
of  lack  of  the  constant  beautification  which  she  was 
always  preaching  as  of  the  utmost  importance  to  her 
patrons.  Agnes  was  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able 
to  be  present,  though  I  noticed  that  she  avoided  the 
Millefleurs  and  sat  as  far  from  them  as  possible. 

Burke  Collins  and  Mrs.  Collins  arrived  together. 
I  had  expected  that  there  would  be  an  icy  coolness 
if  not  positive  enmity  between  them.  They  were  not 
exactly  cordial,  though  somehow  I  seemed  to  feel  that 
now  that  the  cause  of  estrangement  was  removed  a 
tactful  mutual  friend  might  have  brought  about  a 
reconciliation.  Hugh  Dayton  swaggered  in,  his  nerv- 
ousness gone  or  at  least  controlled.  I  passed  behind 
him  once,  and  the  odour  that  smote  my  olfactory  sense 
told  me  too  plainly  that  he  had  fortified  himself  with 
a  stimulant  on  his  way  from  the  apartment  to  the 
laboratory.  Of  course  O'Connor  and  Dr.  Leslie  were 
there,  though  in  the  background. 


The  Beauty  Shop  65 

It  was  a  silent  gathering,  and  Kennedy  did  not 
attempt  to  relieve  the  tension  even  by  small  talk  as 
he  wrapped  the  forearms  of  each  of  us  with  cloths 
steeped  in  a  solution  of  salt.  Upon  these  cloths  he 
placed  little  plates  of  German  silver  to  which  were 
attached  wires  which  led  back  of  a  screen.  At  last 
he  was  ready  to  begin. 

"The  long  history  of  science,"  he  began  as  he 
emerged  from  behind  the  screen,  "is  filled  with  in- 
stances of  phenomena,  noted  at  first  only  for  their 
beauty  or  mystery,  which  have  been  later  proved  to 
be  of  great  practical  value  to  mankind.  A  new  ex- 
ample is  the  striking  phenomenon  of  luminescence. 
Phosphorus,  discovered  centuries  ago,  was  first 
merely  a  curiosity.  Now  it  is  used  for  many  prac- 
tical things,  and  one  of  the  latest  uses  is  as  a  medi- 
cine. It  is  a  constituent  of  the  body,  and  many 
doctors  believe  that  the  lack  of  it  causes,  and  that 
its  presence  will  cure,  many  ills.  But  it  is  a  viru- 
lent and  toxic  drug,  and  no  physician  except  one  who 
knows  his  business  thoroughly  should  presume  to 
handle  it.  Whoever  made  a  practice  of  using  it  at 
the  Novella  did  not  know  his  business,  or  he  would 
have  used  it  in  pills  instead  of  in  the  nauseous  liquid. 
It  is  not  with  phosphorised  ether  as  a  medicine  that 
we  have  to  deal  in  this  case.  It  is  with  the  stuff  as 
a  poison,  a  poison  administered  by  a  demon." 

Craig  shot  the  word  out  so  that  it  had  its  full  ef- 
fect on  his  little  audience.  Then  he  paused,  lowered 
his  voice,  and  resumed  on  a  new  subject. 

"Up  in  the  Washington  Heights  Hospital,"  he  went 
en,  "is  an  apparatus  which  records  the  secrets  of  the 


66  The  Dream  Doctor 

human  heart.  That  is  no  figure  of  speech,  but  a  cold 
scientific  fact.  This  machine  records  every  variation 
of  the  pulsations  of  the  heart  with  such  exquisite  ac- 
curacy that  it  gives  Dr.  Barron,  who  is  up  there  now, 
not  merely  a  diagram  of  the  throbbing  organ  of  each 
of  you  seated  here  in  my  laboratory  a  mile  away,  but 
a  sort  of  moving-picture  of  the  emotions  by  which 
each  heart  here  is  swayed.  Not  only  can  Dr.  Barron 
diagnose  disease,  but  he  can  detect  love,  hate,  fear, 
joy,  anger,  and  remorse.  This  machine  is  known  as 
the  Einthoven  'string  galvanometer/  invented  by  that 
famous  Dutch  physiologist  of  Leyden." 

There  was  a  perceptible  movement  in  our  little  audi- 
ence at  the  thought  that  the  little  wires  that  ran  back 
of  the  screen  from  the  arms  of  each  were  connected 
with  this  uncanny  instrument  so  far  away. 

"It  is  all  done  by  the  electric  current  that  the  heart 
itself  generates,"  pursued  Kennedy,  hammering  home 
the  new  and  startling  idea.  "That  current  is  one  of 
the  feeblest  known  to  science,  for  the  dynamo  that 
generates  it  is  no  ponderous  thing  of  copper  wire  and 
steel  castings.  It  is  just  the  heart  itself.  The  heart 
sends  over  the  wire  its  own  telltale  record  to  the  ma- 
chine which  registers  it.  The  thing  takes  us  all  the 
way  back  to  Galvani,  who  was  the  first  to  observe 
and  study  animal  electricity.  The  heart  makes  only 
one  three-thousandth  of  a  volt  of  electricity  at  each 
beat.  It  would  take  over  two  hundred  thousand  men 
to  light  one  of  these  incandescent  lamps,  two  million 
or  more  to  run  a  trolley-car.  Yet  just  that  slight 
little  current  is  enough  to  sway  the  gossamer  strand 
of  quartz  fibre  up  there  at  what  we  call  the  'heart 


The  Beauty  Shop  67 

station.'  So  fine  is  this  machine  that  the  pulse- trac- 
ings produced  by  the  sphygmograph,  which  I  have 
used  in  other  cases  up  to  this  time,  are  clumsy  and  in 
exact." 

Again  he  paused  as  if  to  let  the  fear  of  discovery 
sink  deep  into  the  minds  of  all  of  us. 

"This  current,  as  I  have  said,  passes  from  each  one 
of  you  in  turn  over  a  wire  and  vibrates  a  fine  quartz 
fibre  up  there  in  unison  with  each  heart  here.  It  is 
one  of  the  most  delicate  bits  of  mechanism  ever  made, 
beside  which  the  hairspring  of  a  watch  is  coarse. 
Each  of  you  in  turn,  is  being  subjected  to  this  test. 
More  than  that,  the  record  up  there  shows  not  only 
the  beats  of  the  heart  but  the  successive  waves  of 
emotion  that  vary  the  form  of  those  beats.  Every 
normal  individual  gives  what  we  call  an  'electro- 
cardiogram/ which  follows  a  certain  type.  The 
photographic  film  on  which  this  is  being  recorded  is 
ruled  so  that  at  the  heart  station  Dr.  Barren  can  read 
it.  There  are  five  waves  to  each  heart-beat,  which 
he  letters  P,  Q,  E,  S,  and  T,  two  below  and  three 
above  a  base  line  on  the  film.  They  have  all  been 
found  to  represent  a  contraction  of  a  certain  portion 
of  the  heart.  Any  change  of  the  height,  width,  or 
time  of  any  one  of  those  lines  shows  that  there  is  some 
defect  or  change  in  the  contraction  of  that  part  of 
the  heart.  Thus  Dr.  Barron,  who  has  studied  this 
thing  carefully,  can  tell  infallibly  not  only  disease 
but  emotion." 

It  seemed  as  if  no  one  dared  look  at  his  neighbour, 
as  if  all  were  trying  vainly  to  control  the  beating  of 
their  own  hearts. 


68  The  Dream  Doctor 

"Now/'  concluded  Kennedy  solemnly  as  if  to  force 
the  last  secret  from  the  wildly  beating  heart  of  some 
one  in  the  room,  "it  is  my  belief  that  the  person  who 
had  access  to  the  operating-room  of  the  Novella  was 
a  person  whose  nerves  were  run  down,  and  in  addi- 
tion to  any  other  treatment  that  person  was  familiar 
with  the  ether  phosphore.  This  person  knew  Miss 
Blaisdell  well,  saw  her  there,  knew  she  was  there  for 
the  purpose  of  frustrating  that  person's  own  dearest 
hopes.  That  person  wrote  her  the  note,  and  knowing 
that  she  would  ask  for  paper  and  an  envelope  in  order 
to  answer  it,  poisoned  the  flap  of  the  envelope. 
Phosphorus  is  a  remedy  for  hysteria,  vexatious  emo- 
tions, want  of  sympathy,  disappointed  and  concealed 
affections — but  not  in  the  quantities  that  this  person 
lavished  on  that  flap.  Whoever  it  was,  not  life,  but 
death,  and  a  ghastly  death,  was  uppermost  in  that 
person's  thoughts." 

Agnes  screamed.  "I  saw  him  take  something  and 
rub  it  on  her  lips,  and  the  brightness  went  away.  I 
— I  didn't  mean  to  tell,  but,  God  help  me,  I  must." 

"Saw  whom?"  demanded  Kennedy,  fixing  her  eye 
as  he  had  when  he  had  called  her  back  from  aphasia. 

"Him — Millefleur — Miller,"  she  sobbed,  shrinking 
back  as  if  the  very  confession  appalled  her. 

"Yes,"  added  Kennedy  coolly,  "Miller  did  try  to 
remove  the  traces  of  the  poison  after  he  discovered 
it,  in  order  to  protect  himself  and  the  reputation  of 
the  Novella." 

The  telephone  bell  tinkled.  Craig  seized  the  re- 
ceiver. 

"Yes,  Barren,  this  is  Kennedy.     You  received  the 


The  Beauty  Shop  69 

impulses  all  right?  Good.  And  have  you  had  time 
to  study  the  records?  Yes?  What's  that?  Number 
seven?  All  right.  I'll  see  you  very  soon  and  go  over 
the  records  again  with  you.  Good-bye." 

"One  word  more,"  he  continued,  now  facing  us. 
"The  normal  heart  traces  its  throbs  in  regular 
rhythm.  The  diseased  or  overwrought  heart  throbs 
in  degrees  of  irregularity  that  vary  according  to  the 
trouble  that  affects  it,  both  organic  and  emotional. 
The  expert  like  Barren  can  tell  what  each  wave 
means,  just  as  he  can  tell  what  the  lines  in  a  spec- 
trum mean.  He  can  see  the  invisible,  hear  the  in- 
audible, feel  the  intangible,  with  mathematical  pre- 
cision. Barron  has  now  read  the  electro-cardiograms. 
Each  is  a  picture  of  the  beating  of  the  heart  that  made 
it,  and  each  smallest  variation  has  a  meaning  to  him. 
Every  passion,  every  emotion,  every  disease,  is  re- 
corded with  inexorable  truth.  The  person  with  mur- 
der in  his  heart  cannot  hide  it  from  the  string  gal- 
vanometer, nor  can  that  person  who  wrote  the  false 
note  in  which  the  very  lines  of  the  letters  betray  a 
diseased  heart  hide  that  disease.  The  doctor  tells  me 
that  that  person  was  number — " 

Mrs.  Collins  had  risen  wildly  and  was  standing  be- 
fore us  with  blazing  eyes.  "Yes,"  she  cried,  pressing 
her  hands  on  her  breast  as  if  it  were  about  to  burst 
and  tell  the  secret  before  her  lips  could  frame  the 
words,  "yes,  I  killed  her,  and  I  would  follow  her  to 
the  end  of  the  earth  if  I  had  not  succeeded.  She  was 
there,  the  woman  who  had  stolen  from  me  what  was 
more  than  life  itself.  Yes,  I  wrote  the  note,  I  poi- 
soned the  envelope.  I  killed  her." 


70  The  Dream  Doctor 

All  the  intense  hatred  that  she  had  felt  for  that 
other  woman  in  the  days  that  she  had  vainly  striven 
to  equal  her  in  beauty  and  win  back  her  husband's 
love  broke  forth.  She  was  wonderful,  magnificent, 
in  her  fury.  She  was  passion  personified;  she  wa,s 
fate,  retribution. 

Collins  looked  at  his  wife,  and  even  he  felt  the  spell. 
It  was  not  crime  that  she  had  done;  it  was  elemental 
justice. 

For  a  moment  she  stood,  silent,  facing  Kennedy. 
Then  the  colour  slowly  faded  from  her  cheeks.  She 
reeled. 

Collins  caught  her  and  imprinted  a  kiss,  the  kiss 
that  for  years  she  had  longed  and  striven  for  again. 
She  looked  rather  than  spoke  forgiveness  as  he  held 
her  and  showered  them  on  her. 

"Before  Heaven/'  I  heard  him  whisper  into  her 
ear,  "with  all  my  power  as  a  lawyer  I  will  free  you 
from  this." 

Gently  Dr.  Leslie  pushed  him  aside  and  felt  her 
pulse  ae  she  dropped  limply  into  the  only  easy  chair 
in  the  laboratory. 

"O'Connor,"  he  said  at  length,  "all  the  evidence 
that  we  really  have  hangs  on  an  invisible  thread  of 
quartz  a  mile  away.  If  Professor  Kennedy  agrees, 
let  us  forget  what  has  happened  here  to-night.  I  will 
direct  my  jury  to  bring  in  a  verdict  of  suicide.  Col- 
line,  take  good  care  of  her."  He  leaned  over  and 
whispered  so  she  could  not  hear.  "I  wouldn't  prom- 
ise her  six  weeks  otherwise." 

I  could  not  help  feeling  deeply  moved  as  the  newly 
reunited  Collinses  left  the  laboratory  together.  Even 


The  Beauty  Shop  71 

the  bluff  deputy,  O'Connor,  was  touched  by  it  and 
under  the  circumstances  did  what  seemed  to  him  his 
higher  duty  with  a  tact  of  which  I  had  believed  him 
scarcely  capable.  Whatever  the  ethics  of  the  case, 
he  left  it  entirely  to  Dr.  Leslie's  coroner's  jury  to 
determine. 

Burke  Collins  was  already  making  hasty  prepara- 
tions for  the  care  of  his  wife  so  that  she  might  have 
the  best  medical  attention  to  prolong  her  life  for 
the  few  weeks  or  months  before  nature  exacted  the 
penalty  which  was  denied  the  law. 

"That's  a  marvellous  piece  of  apparatus,"  I  re- 
marked, standing  over  the  connections  with  the  string 
galvanometer,  after  all  had  gone.  "Just  suppose  the 
case  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  some  of  these  old- 
fashioned  detectives — " 

"I  hate  post-mortems — on  my  own  cases,"  inter- 
rupted Kennedy  brusquely.  "To-morrow  will  be  time 
enough  to  clear  up  this  mess.  Meanwhile,  let  us  get 
this  thing  out  of  our  minds." 

He  clapped  his  hat  on  his  head  decisively  and  de- 
liberately walked  out  of  the  laboratory,  starting  off 
at  a  brisk  pace  in  the  moonlight  across  the  campus 
to  the  avenue  where  now  the  only  sound  was  the  noisy 
rattle  of  an  occasional  trolley  car. 

How  long  we  walked  I  do  not  know.  But  I  do 
know  that  for  genuine  relaxation  after  a  long  period 
of  keen  mental  stress,  there  is  nothing  like  physical 
exercise.  We  turned  into  our  apartment,  roused  the 
sleepy  hall-boy,  and  rode  up. 

"I  suppose  people  think  I  never  rest,"  remarked 
Kennedy,  carefully  avoiding  any  reference  to  the  ex- 


72  The  Dream  Doctor 

citing  events  of  the  past  two  days.  "But  I  do.  Like 
every  one  else,  I  have  to.  When  I  am  working  hard 
on  a  ease — well,  I  have  my  own  violent  reaction 
against  it — more  work  of  a  different  kind.  Others 
choose  white  lights,  red  wines  and  blue  feelings  after- 
wards. But  I  find,  when  I  reach  that  state,  that 
the  best  anti-toxin  is  something  that  will  chase  the 
last  case  from  your  brain  by  getting  you  in  trim  for 
the  next  unexpected  event." 

He  had  sunk  into  an  easy  chair  where  he  was  run- 
ning over  in  his  mind  his  own  plans  for  the  morrow. 

"Just  now  I  must  recuperate  by  doing  no  work  at 
all,"  he  went  on  slowly  undressing.  "That  walk  was 
just  what  I  needed.  When  the  fever  of  dissipation 
comes  on  again,  I'll  call  on  you.  You  won't  miss  any- 
thing, Walter." 

Like  the  famous  Finnegan,  however,  he  was  on 
again  and  gone  again  in  the  morning.  This  time  I 
had  no  misgivings,  although  I  should  have  liked  to 
accompany  him,  for  on  the  library  table  he  had 
scrawled  a  little  note,  "Studying  East  Side  to-day. 
Will  keep  in  touch  with  you.  Craig." 

My  daily  task  of  transcribing  my  notes  was  com- 
pleted and  I  thought  I  would  run  down  to  the  Star 
to  let  the  editor  know  how  I  was  getting  along  on 
my  assignment. 

I  had  scarcely  entered  the  door  when  the  office  boy 
thrust  a  message  into  my  hand.  It  stopped  me  even 
before  I  had  a  chance  to  get  as  far  as  my  own  desk. 
It  was  from  Kennedy  at  the  laboratory  and  bore  a 
time  stamp  that  showed  that  it  must  have  been  re- 
ceived only  a  few  minutes  before  I  came  in. 


The  Beauty  SHop  73 

"Meet  me  at  the  Grand  Central,"  it  read,  "immedi- 
ately." 

Without  going  further  into  the  office,  I  turned  and 
dropped  down  in  the  elevator  to  the  subway.  As 
quickly  as  an  express  could  take  me,  I  hurried  up  to 
the  new  station. 

"Where  away?"  I  asked  breathlessly,  as  Craig  met 
me  at  the  entrance  through  which  he  had  reasoned  I 
would  come.  "The  coast  or  Down  East?" 

"Woodrock,"  he  replied  quickly,  taking  my  arm 
and  dragging  me  down  a  ramp  to  the  train  that  was 
just  leaving  for  that  fashionable  suburb. 

"Well,"  I  queried  eagerly,  as  the  train  started. 
"Why  all  this  secrecy?" 

"I  had  a  caller  this  afternoon,"  he  began,  running 
his  eye  over  the  other  passengers  to  see  if  we  were 
observed.  "She  is  going  back  on  this  train.  I  am 
not  to  recognise  her  at  the  station,  but  you  and  I  are 
to  walk  to  the  end  of  the  platform  and  enter  a  limou- 
sine bearing  that  number." 

He  produced  a  card  on  the  back  of  which  was  writ- 
ten a  number  in  six  figures.  Mechanically  I  glanced 
at  the  name  as  he  handed  the  card  to  me.  Craig  was 
watching  intently  the  expression  on  my  face  as  I  read, 
"Miss  Yvonne  Brixton." 

"Since  when  were  you  admitted  into  society?"  I 
gasped,  still  staring  at  the  name  of  the  daughter  of 
the  millionaire  banker,  John  Brixton. 

"She  came  to  tell  me  that  her  father  is  in  a  virtual 
state  of  siege,  as  it  were,  up  there  in  his  own  house," 
explained  Kennedy  in  an  undertone,  "so  much  so 
that,  apparently,  she  is  the  only  person  he  felt  he 


74          i  The  Dream  Doctor 

dared  trust  with  a  message  to  summon  me.  Prac- 
tically everything  he  says  or  does  is  spied  on ;  he  can't 
even  telephone  without  what  he  says  being  known." 

"Siege?"  I  repeated  incredulously.  "Impossible. 
Why,  only  this  morning  I  was  reading  about  his  ne- 
gotiations with  a  foreign  syndicate  of  bankers  from 
southeastern  Europe  for  a  ten-million-dollar  loan  to 
relieve  the  money  stringency  there.  Surely  there 
must  be  some  mistake  in  all  this.  In  fact,  as  I  recall 
it,  one  of  the  foreign  bankers  who  is  trying  to  in- 
terest him  is  that  Count  Wachtmann  who,  everybody 
says,  is  engaged  to  Miss  Brixton,  and  is  staying  at 
the  house  at  Woodrock.  Craig,  are  you  sure  nobody 
is  hoaxing  you?" 

"Read  that,"  he  replied  laconically,  handing  me  a 
piece  of  thin  letter-paper  such  as  is  often  used  for 
foreign  correspondence.  "Such  letters  have  been 
coming  to  Mr.  Brixton,  I  understand,  every  day." 

The  letter  was  in  a  cramped  foreign  scrawl : 

JOHN  BBIXTON, 

Woodrock,  New  York. 

American  dollars  must  not  endanger  the  peace  of  Europe.  Be 
warned  in  time.  In  the  name  of  liberty  and  progress  we  have 
raised  the  standard  of  conflict  without  truce  or  quarter  against 
reaction.  If  you  and  the  American  bankers  associated  with  you 
take  up  these  bonds  you  will  never  live  to  receive  the  first  pay- 
ment of  interest 

THE  BED  BBOTHEBHOOD  OF  THE  BALKANS. 

I  looked  up  inquiringly.  "What  is  the  Red 
Brotherhood?"  I  asked. 

"As  nearly  as  I  can  make  out,"  replied  Kennedy, 
"it  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  international  secret  society. 


The  Beauty  Shop  75 

I  believe  it  preaches  the  gospel  of  terror  and  violence 
in  the  cause  of  liberty  and  union  of  some  of  the  peo- 
ples of  southeastern  Europe.  Anyhow,  it  keeps  its 
secrets  well.  The  identity  of  the  members  is  a  mys- 
tery, as  well  as  the  source  of  its  funds,  which,  it  is 
said,  are  immense." 

"And  they  operate  so  secretly  that  Brixton  can 
trust  no  one  about  him?"  I  asked. 

"I  believe  he  is  ill,"  explained  Craig.  "At  any  rate, 
he  evidently  suspects  almost  every  one  about  him  ex- 
cept his  daughter.  As  nearly  as  I  could  gather,  how- 
ever, he  does  not  suspect  Wachtmann  himself.  Miss 
Brixton  seemed  to  think  that  there  were  some  enemies 
of  the  Count  at  work.  Her  father  is  a  secretive  man. 
Even  to  her,  the  only  message  he  would  entrust  was 
that  he  wanted  to  see  me  immediately." 

At  Woodrock  we  took  our  time  in  getting  off  the 
train.  Miss  Brixton,  a  tall,  dark-haired,  athletic  girl 
just  out  of  college,  had  preceded  us,  and  as  her  own 
car  shot  out  from  the  station  platform  we  leisurely 
walked  down  and  entered  another  bearing  the  num- 
ber she  had  given  Kennedy. 

We  seemed  to  be  expected  at  the  house.  Hardly 
had  we  been  admitted  through  the  door  from  the 
porte-cochere,  than  we  were  led  through  a  hall  to  a 
library  at  the  side  of  the  house.  From  the  library 
we  entered  another  door,  then  down  a  flight  of  steps 
which  must  have  brought  us  below  an  open  court- 
yard on  the  outside,  under  a  rim  of  the  terrace  in 
front  of  the  house  for  a  short  distance  to  a  point 
where  we  descended  three  more  steps. 

At  the  head  of  these  three  steps  was  a  great  steel 


76  The  Dream  Doctor 

and  iron  door  with  heavy  bolts  and  a  combination 
lock  of  a  character  ordinarily  found  only  on  a  safe 
in  a  banking  institution. 

The  door  was  opened,  and  we  descended  the  steps, 
going  a  little  farther  in  the  same  direction  away  from 
the  side  of  the  house.  Then  we  turned  at  a  right 
angle  facing  toward  the  back  of  the  house  but  well 
to  one  side  of  it.  It  must  have  been,  I  figured  out 
later,  underneath  the  open  courtyard.  A  few  steps 
farther  brought  us  to  a  fair-sized,  vaulted  room. 


V 

The  Phantom  Circuit 

BRIXTON  had  evidently  been  waiting  impatiently 
for  our  arrival.  "Mr.  Kennedy?"  he  inquired, 
adding  quickly  without  waiting  for  an  answer:  "I 
am  glad  to  see  you.  I  suppose  you  have  noticed  the 
precautions  we  are  taking  against  intruders?  Yet 
it  seems  to  be  all  of  no  avail.  I  can  not  be  alone 
even  here.  If  a  telephone  message  comes  to  me  over 
my  private  wire,  if  I  talk  with  my  own  office  in  the 
city,  it  seems  that  it  is  known.  I  don't  know  wThat 
to  make  of  it.  It  is  terrible.  I  don't  know  what  to 
expect  next." 

Brixton  had  been  standing  beside  a  huge  mahogany 
desk  as  we  entered.  I  had  seen  him  before  at  a  dis- 
tance as  a  somewhat  pompous  speaker  at  banquets 
and  the  cynosure  of  the  financial  district.  But  there 
was  something  different  about  his  looks  now.  He 
seemed  to  have  aged,  to  have  grown  yellower.  Even 
the  whites  of  his  eyes  were  yellow. 

I  thought  at  first  that  perhaps  it  might  be  the  ef- 
fect of  the  light  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  a  huge 
affair  set  in  the  ceiling  in  a  sort  of  inverted  hemi- 
sphere of  glass,  concealing  and  softening  the  rays  of 
a  powerful  incandescent  bulb  which  it  enclosed.  It 
was  not  the  light  that  gave  him  the  altered  appear- 
ance, as  I  concluded  from  catching  a  casual  confirma- 
tory glance  of  perplexity  from  Kennedy  himself. 

77 


78  The  Dream  Doctor 

"My  personal  physician  says  I  am  suffering  from 
jaundice,"  explained  Brixton.  Kather  than  seeming 
to  be  offended  at  our  notice  of  his  condition  he  seemed 
to  take  it  as  a  good  evidence  of  Kennedy's  keenness 
that  he  had  at  once  hit  on  one  of  the  things  that  were 
weighing  on  Brixton's  own  mind.  "I  feel  pretty 
badly,  too.  Curse  it,"  he  added  bitterly,  "coming  at 
a  time  when  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  I  should 
have  all  my  strength  to  carry  through  a  negotiation 
that  is  only  a  beginning,  important  not  so  much  for 
myself  as  for  the  whole  world.  It  is  one  of  the  first 
times  New  York  bankers  have  had  a  chance  to  en- 
gage in  big  dealings  in  that  part  of  the  world.  I  sup- 
pose Yvonne  has  shown  you  one  of  the  letters  I  am 
receiving?" 

He  rustled  a  sheaf  of  them  which  he  drew  from  a 
drawer  of  his  desk,  and  continued,  not  waiting  for 
Kennedy  even  to  nod: 

"Here  are  a  dozen  or  more  of  them.  I  get  one 
or  two  every  day,  either  here  or  at  my  town  house  or 
at  the  office." 

Kennedy  had  moved  forward  to  see  them. 

"One  moment  more,"  Brixton  interrupted,  still 
holding  them.  "I  shall  come  back  to  the  letters. 
That  is  not  the  worst.  I've  had  threatening  letters 
before.  Have  you  noticed  this  room?" 

We  had  both  seen  and  been  impressed  by  it. 

"Let  me  tell  you  more  about  it,"  he  went  on.  "It 
was  designed  especially  to  be,  among  other  things, 
absolutely  soundproof." 

We  gazed  curiously  about  the  strong  room.  It 
was  beautifully  decorated  and  furnished.  On  the 


The  Phantom  Circuit  79 

walls  was  a  sort  of  heavy,  velvety  green  wall-paper. 
Exquisite  hangings  were  draped  about,  and  on  the 
floor  were  thick  rugs.  In  all  I  noticed  that  the  pre- 
vailing tint  was  green. 

"I  had  experiments  carried  out,"  he  explained  lan- 
guidly, "with  the  object  of  discovering  methods  and 
means  for  rendering  walls  and  ceilings  capable  of 
effective  resistance  to  sound  transmission.  One  of 
the  methods  devised  involved  the  use  under  the  ceil- 
ing or  parallel  to  the  wall,  as  the  case  might  be,  of 
a  network  of  wire  stretched  tightly  by  means  of  pul- 
leys in  the  adjacent  walls  and  not  touching  at  any 
point  the  surface  to  be  protected  against  sound. 
Upon  the  wire  network  is  plastered  a  composition 
formed  of  strong  glue,  plaster  of  Paris,  and  granu- 
lated cork,  so  as  to  make  a  flat  slab,  between  which 
and  the  wall  or  ceiling  is  a  cushion  of  confined  air. 
The  method  is  good  in  two  respects:  the  absence  of 
contact  between  the  protective  and  protected  surfaces 
and  the  colloid  nature  of  the  composition  used.  I 
have  gone  into  the  thing  at  length  because  it  will 
make  all  the  more  remarkable  what  I  am  about  to 
tell  you." 

Kennedy  had  been  listening  attentively.  As  Brix- 
ton  proceeded  I  had  noticed  Kennedy's  nostrils  di- 
lating almost  as  if  he  were  a  hound  and  had  scented 
his  quarry.  I  sniffed,  too.  Yes,  there  was  a  faint 
odour,  almost  as  if  of  garlic  in  the  room.  It  was  un- 
mistakable. Craig  was  looking  about  curiously,  as 
if  to  discover  a  window  by  which  the  odour  might  have 
entered.  Brixton,  with  his  eyes  following  keenly 
every  move,  noticed  him. 


80  The  Dream  Doctor 

"More  than  that/'  he  added  quickly,  "I  have  had 
the  most  perfect  system  of  modern  ventilation  in- 
stalled in  this  room,  absolutely  independent  from 
that  in  the  house." 

Kennedy  said  nothing. 

"A  moment  ago,  Mr.  Kennedy,  I  saw  you  and  Mr. 
Jameson  glancing  up  at  the  ceiling.  Sound-proof  as 
this  room  is,  or  as  I  believe  it  to  be,  I — I  hear  voices, 
voices  from — not  through,  you  understand,  but  from 
— that  very  ceiling.  I  do  not  hear  them  now.  It  is 
only  at  certain  times  when  I  am  alone.  They  repeat 
the  words  in  some  of  these  letters — 'You  must  not 
take  up  those  bonds.  You  must  not  endanger  the 
peace  of  the  world.  You  will  never  live  to  get  the 
interest.'  Over  and  over  I  have  heard  such  sentences 
spoken  in  this  very  room.  I  have  rushed  out  and 
up  the  corridor.  There  has  been  no  one  there.  I 
have  locked  the  steel  door.  Still  I  have  heard  the 
voices.  And  it  is  absolutely  impossible  that  a  human 
being  could  get  close  enough  to  say  them  without  my 
knowing  and  finding  out  where  he  is." 

Kennedy  betrayed  by  not  so  much  as  the  motion 
of  a  muscle  even  a  shade  of  a  doubt  of  Brixton's  in- 
credible story.  Whether  because  he  believed  it  or 
because  he  was  diplomatic,  Craig  took  the  thing  at 
its  face  value.  He  moved  a  blotter  so  that  he  could 
stand  on  the  top  of  Brixton's  desk  in  the  centre  of 
the  room.  Then  he  unfastened  and  took  down  the 
glass  hemisphere  over  the  light. 

"It  is  an  Osram  lamp  of  about  a  hundred  candle- 
power,  I  should  judge,"  he  observed. 

Apparently  he  had  satisfied  himself  that  there  was 


The  Phantom  Circuit  81 

nothing  concealed  in  the  light  itself.  Laboriously, 
with  such  assistance  as  the  memory  of  Mr.  Brixton 
could  give,  he  began  tracing  out  the  course  of  both 
the  electric  light  and  telephone  wires  that  led  down 
into  the  den. 

Next  came  a  close  examination  of  the  ceiling  and 
side  walls,  the  floor,  the  hangings,  the  pictures,  the 
rugs,  everything.  Kennedy  was  tapping  here  and 
there  all  over  the  wall,  as  if  to  discover  whether  there 
was  any  such  hollow  sound  as  a  cavity  might  make. 
There  was  none. 

A  low  exclamation  from  him  attracted  mj  atten- 
tion, though  it  escaped  Brixton.  His  tapping  had 
raised  the  dust  from  the  velvety  wall-paper  wher- 
ever he  had  tried  it.  Hastily,  from  a  corner  where 
it  would  not  be  noticed,  he  pulled  off  a  piece  of  the 
paper  and  stuffed  it  into  his  pocket.  Then  followed 
a  hasty  examination  of  the  intake  of  the  ventilating 
apparatus. 

Apparently  satisfied  with  his  examination  of 
things  in  the  den,  Craig  now  prepared  to  trace  out 
the  course  of  the  telephone  and  light  wires  in  the 
house.  Brixton  excused  himself,  asking  us  to  join 
him  in  the  library  up-stairs  after  Craig  had  com- 
pleted his  investigation. 

Nothing  was  discovered  by  tracing  the  lines  back, 
as  best  we  could,  from  the  den.  Kennedy  therefore 
began  at  the  other  end,  and  having  found  the  points 
in  the  huge  cellar  of  the  house  where  the  main  trunk 
and  feed  wires  entered,  he  began  a  systematic  search 
in  that  direction. 

A  separate  line  led,  apparently,  to  the  den,  and 


82  The  Dream  Doctor 

where  this  line  feeding  the  Osram  lamp  passed  near 
a  dark  storeroom  in  a  corner  Craig  examined  more 
closely  than  ever.  Seemingly  his  search  was  re- 
warded, for  he  dived  into  the  dark  storeroom  and 
commenced  lighting  matches  furiously  to  discover 
what  was  there. 

"Look,  Walter,"  he  exclaimed,  holding  a  match  so 
that  I  could  see  what  he  had  unearthed.  There,  in 
a  corner  concealed  by  an  old  chest  of  drawers,  stood 
a  battery  of  five  storage-cells  connected  with  an  in- 
strument that  looked  very  much  like  a  telephone 
transmitter,  a  rheostat,  and  a  small  transformer  coil. 

"I  suppose  this  is  a  direct-current  lighting  circuit," 
he  remarked,  thoughtfully  regarding  his  find.  "I 
think  I  know  what  this  is,  all  right.  Any  amateur 
could  do  it,  with  a  little  knowledge  of  electricity  and 
a  source  of  direct  current.  The  thing  is  easily  con- 
structed, the  materials  are  common,  and  a  wonder- 
fully complicated  result  can  be  obtained.  What's 
this?" 

He  had  continued  to  poke  about  in  the  darkness  as 
he  was  speaking.  In  another  corner  he  had  discov- 
ered two  ordinary  telephone  receivers. 

"Connected  up  with  something,  too,  by  George!" 
he  ejaculated. 

Evidently  some  one  had  tapped  the  regular  tele- 
phone wires  running  into  the  house,  had  run  exten- 
sions into  the  little  storeroom,  and  was  prepared  to 
overhear  everything  that  was  said  either  to  or  by 
those  in  the  house. 

Further  examination  disclosed  that  there  were  two 
separate  telephone  systems  running  into  Brixton's 


The  Phantom  Circuit  83 

house.  One,  with  its  many  extensions,  was  used  by 
the  household  and  by  the  housekeeper;  the  other  was 
the  private  wire  which  led,  ultimately,  down  into 
Brixton's  den.  No  sooner  had  he  discovered  it  than 
Kennedy  became  intensely  interested.  For  the  mo- 
ment he  seemed  entirely  to  forget  the  electric-light 
wires  and  became  absorbed  in  tracing  out  the  course 
of  the  telephone  trunk-line  and  its  extensions.  Con- 
tinued search  rewarded  him  with  the  discovery  that 
both  the  household  line  and  the  private  line  were 
connected  by  hastily  improvised  extensions  with  the 
two  receivers  he  had  discovered  in  the  out-of-the-way 
corner  of  a  little  dark  storeroom. 

"Don't  disturb  a  thing,"  remarked  Kennedy,  cau- 
tiously picking  up  even  the  burnt  matches  he  had 
dropped  in  his  hasty  search.  "We  must  devise  some 
means  of  catching  the  eavesdropper  red  handed.  It 
has  all  the  marks  of  being  an  inside  job." 

We  had  completed  our  investigation  of  the  base- 
ment without  attracting  any  attention,  and  Craig 
was  careful  to  make  it  seem  that  in  entering  the  li- 
brary we  came  from  the  den,  not  from  the  cellar.  As 
we  waited  in  the  big  leather  chairs  Kennedy  was 
sketching  roughly  on  a  sheet  of  paper  the  plan  of  the 
house,  drawing  in  the  location  of  the  various  wires. 

The  door  opened.  We  had  expected  John  Brixton. 
Instead,  a  tall,  spare  foreigner  with  a  close-cropped 
moustache  entered.  I  knew  at  once  that  it  must  be 
Count  Wachtmann,  although  I  had  never  seen  him. 

"Ah,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  exclaimed  in  English 
which  betrayed  that  he  had  been  under  good  teachers 
in  London.  "I  thought  Miss  Brixton  was  here." 


84  The  Dream  Doctor 

"Count  Wachtmann?"  interrogated  Kennedy,  ris- 
ing. 

"The  same,"  lie  replied  easily,  with  a  glance  of  in- 
quiry at  us. 

"My  friend  and  I  are  from  the  Star/'  said  Ken- 
nedy. 

"Ah!  Gentlemen  of  the  press?"  He  elevated  his 
eyebrows  the  fraction  of  an  inch.  It  was  so  politely 
contemptuous  that  I  could  almost  have  throttled  him. 

"We  are  waiting  to  see  Mr.  Brixton,"  explained 
Kennedy. 

"What  is  the  latest  from  the  Near  East?"  Wacht- 
mann asked,  with  the  air  of  a  man  expecting-  to  hear 
what  he  could  have  told  you  yesterday  if  he  had 
chosen. 

There  was  a  movement  of  the  portieres,  and  a 
woman  entered.  She  stopped  a  moment.  I  knew  it 
was  Miss  Brixton.  She  had  recognised  Kennedy,  but 
her  part  was  evidently  to  treat  him  as  a  total  stranger. 

"Who  are  these  men,  Conrad?"  she  asked,  turning 
to  Wachtmann. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  press,  I  believe,  to  see  your 
father,  Yvonne,"  replied  the  count. 

It  was  evident  that  it  had  not  been  mere  newspaper 
talk  about  this  latest  rumored  international  engage- 
ment 

"How  did  you  enjoy  it?"  he  asked,  noticing  the  title 
of  a  history  which  she  had  come  to  replace  in  the 
library. 

"Very  well — all  but  the  assassinations  and  the  in- 
trigues," she  replied  with  a  little  shudder. 

He  shot  a  quick,  searching  look  at  her  face.    "They 


The  Phantom  Circuit  85 

are  a  violent  people — some  of  them,"  he  commented 
quickly. 

"You  are  going  into  town  to-morrow?"  I  heard  him 
ask  Miss  Brixton,  as  they  walked  slowly  down  the 
wide  hall  to  the  conservatory  a  few  moments  later. 

"What  do  you  think  of  him?"  I  whispered  to  Ken- 
nedy. 

I  suppose  my  native  distrust  of  his  kind  showed 
through,  for  Craig  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
Before  he  could  reply  Mr.  Brixton  joined  us. 

"There's  another  one — just  came,"  he  ejaculated, 
throwing  a  letter  down  on  the  library  table.  It  was 
only  a  few  lines  this  time: 

"The  bonds  will  not  be  subject  to  a  tax  by  the  gov- 
ernment, they  say.  No — because  if  there  is  a  war 
there  won't  be  any  government  to  tax  them!" 

The  note  ^ id  not  appear  to  interest  Kennedy  as 
much  as  what  he  had  discovered.  "One  thing  is  self- 
evident,  Mr.  Brixton,"  he  remarked.  "Some  one  in- 
side this  house  is  spying,  is  in  constant  communica- 
tion with  a  person  or  persons  outside.  All  the  watch- 
men and  Great  Danes  on  the  estate  are  of  no  avail 
against  the  subtle,  underground  connection  that  I 
believe  exists.  It  is  still  early  in  the  afternoon.  I 
shall  make  a  hasty  trip  to  New  York  and  return  after 
dinner.  I  should  like  to  watch  with  you  in  the  den 
this  evening." 

"Very  well,"  agreed  Brixton.  "I  shall  arrange  to 
have  you  met  at  the  station  and  brought  here  as  se- 
cretly as  I  can." 

He  sighed,  as  if  admitting  that  he  was  no  longer 
master  of  even  his  own  house. 


86  The  Dream  Doctor 

Kennedy  was  silent  during  most  of  our  return  trip 
to  New  York.  As  for  myself,  I  was  deeply  mired  in 
an  attempt  to  fathom  Wachtmann.  He  baffled  me. 
However,  I  felt  that  if  there  was  indeed  some  subtle, 
underground  connection  between  some  one  inside 
and  some  one  outside  Brixton's  house,  Craig  would 
prepare  an  equally  subtle  method  of  meeting  it  on 
his  own  account.  Very  little  was  said  by  either  of 
us  on  the  journey  up  to  the  laboratory,  or  on  the  re- 
turn to  Woodrock.  I  realised  that  there  was  very 
little  excuse  for  a  commuter  not  to  be  well  informed. 
I,  at  least,  had  plenty  of  time  to  exhaust  the  newspa- 
pers I  had  bought. 

Whether  or  not  we  returned  without  being  ob- 
served, I  did  not  know,  but  at  least  we  did  find  that 
the  basement  and  dark  storeroom  were  deserted,  as 
we  cautiously  made  our  way  again  IT:  to  the  corner 
where  Craig  had  made  his  enigmatical  discoveries 
of  the  afternoon. 

While  I  held  a  pocket  flashlight  Craig  was  busy 
concealing  another  instrument  of  his  own  in  the  lit- 
tle storeroom.  It  seemed  to  be  a  little  black  disk 
about  as  big  as  a  watch,  with  a  number  of  perforated 
holes  in  one  face.  Carelessly  he  tossed  it  into  the 
top  drawer  of  the  chest  under  some  old  rubbish,  shut 
the  drawer  tight  and  ran  a  flexible  wire  out  of  the 
back  of  the  chest.  It  was  a  simple  matter  to  lay  the 
wire  through  some  bins  next  the  storeroom  and  then 
around  to  the  passageway  down  to  the  subterranean 
den  of  Brixton.  There  Craig  deposited  a  little  black 
box  about  the  size  of  an  ordinary  kodak. 

For  an  hour  or  so  we  sat  with  Brixton.     Neither 


The  Phantom  Circuit  87 

of  us  said  anything,  and  Brixton  was  uncommuni- 
catively  engaged  in  reading  a  railroad  report.  Sud- 
denly a  sort  of  muttering,  singing  noise  seemed  to 
fill  the  room. 

"There  it  is !"  cried  Brixton,  clapping  the  book  shut 
and  looking  eagerly  at  Kennedy. 

Gradually  the  sound  increased  in  pitch.  It  seemed 
to  come  from  the  ceiling,  not  from  any  particular 
part  of  the  room,  but  merely  from  somewhere  over- 
head. There  was  no  hallucination  about  it.  We 
all  heard.  As  the  vibrations  increased  it  was 
evident  that  they  were  shaping  themselves  into 
words. 

Kennedy  had  grasped  the  black  box  the  moment 
the  sound  began  and  was  holding  two  black  rubber 
disks  to  his  ears. 

At  last  the  sound  from  overhead  became  articulate. 
It  was  weird,  uncanny.  Suddenly  a  voice  said  dis- 
tinctly: "Let  American  dollars  beware.  They  will 
not  protect  American  daughters." 

Craig  had  dropped  the  two  ear-pieces  and  was  gaz- 
ing intently  at  the  Osram  lamp  in  the  ceiling.  Was 
he,  too,  crazy? 

"Here,  Mr.  Brixton,  take  these  two  receivers  of  the 
detectaphone,"  said  Kennedy.  "Tell  me  whether 
you  can  recognise  the  voice." 

"Why,  it's  familiar,"  he  remarked  slowly.  "I  can't 
place  it,  but  I've  heard  it  before.  Where  is  it? 
What  is  this  thing,  anyhow?" 

"It  is  some  one  hidden  in  the  storeroom  in  the  base- 
ment," answered  Craig.  "He  is  talking  into  a  very 
sensitive  telephone  transmitter  and — " 


88  The  Dream  Doctor 

"But  the  voice — here?"  interrupted  Brixton  im- 
patiently. 

Kennedy  pointed  to  the  incandescent  lamp  in  the 
ceiling.  "The  incandescent  lamp,"  he  said,  "is  not 
always  the  mute  electrical  apparatus  it  is  supposed 
to  be.  Under  the  right  conditions  it  can  be  made  to 
speak  exactly  as  the  famous  'speaking-arc/  as  it  was 
called  by  Professor  Duddell,  who  investigated  it. 
Both  the  arc-light  and  the  metal-filament  lamp  can 
be  made  to  act  as  telephone  receivers." 

It  seemed  unbelievable,  but  Kennedy  was  positive. 
"In  the  case  of  the  speaking-arc  or  'arcophone,'  as  it 
might  be  called,"  he  continued,  "the  fact  that  the  elec- 
tric arc  is  sensitive  to  such  small  variations  in  the 
current  over  a  wide  range  of  frequency  has  suggested 
that  a  direct-current  arc  might  be  used  as  a  telephone 
receiver.  All  that  is  necessary  is  to  superimpose  a 
microphone  current  on  the  main  arc  current,  and  the 
arc  reproduces  sounds  and  speech  distinctly,  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  several  feet.  Indeed,  the  arc 
could  be  used  as  a  transmitter,  too,  if  a  sensitive 
receiver  replaced  the  transmitter  at  the  other  end. 
The  things  needed  are  an  arc-lamp,  an  impedance 
coil,  or  small  transformer-coil,  a  rheostat,  and  a 
source  of  energy.  The  alternating  current  is  not 
adapted  to  reproduce  speech,  but  the  ordinary  direct 
current  is.  Of  course,  the  theory  isn't  half  as  simple 
as  the  apparatus  I  have  described." 

He  had  unscrewed  the  Osram  lamp.  The  talking 
ceased  immediately. 

"Two  investigators  named  Ort  and  Bidger  have 
used  a  lamp  like  this  as  a  receiver,"  he  continued. 


The  Phantom  Circuit  89 

"They  found  that  words  spoken  were  reproduced  in 
the  lamp.  The  telephonic  current  variations  super- 
posed on  the  current  passing  through  the  lamp  pro- 
duce corresponding  variations  of  heat  in  the  filament, 
which  are  radiated  to  the  glass  of  the  bulb,  causing 
it  to  expand  and  contract  proportionately,  and  thus 
transmitting  vibrations  to  the  exterior  air.  Of 
course,  in  sixteen-  and  thirty-two-candle-power  lamps 
the  glass  is  too  thick,  and  the  heat  variations  are  too 
feeble." 

Who  was  it  whose  voice  Brixton  had  recognised  as 
familiar  over  Kennedy's  hastily  installed  detecta- 
phone?  Certainly  he  must  have  been  a  scientist  of 
no  mean  attainment.  That  did  not  surprise  me,  for 
I  realised  that  from  that  part  of  Europe  where  this 
mystical  Red  Brotherhood  operated  some  of  the  most 
famous  scientists  of  the  world  had  sprung. 

A  hasty  excursion  into  the  basement  netted  us  noth- 
ing. The  place  was  deserted. 

We  could  only  wait.  With  parting  instructions 
to  Brixton  in  the  use  of  the  detectaphone  we  said 
good  night,  were  met  by  a  watchman  and  escorted  as 
far  as  the  lodge  safely. 

Only  one  remark  did  Kennedy  make  as  we  settled 
ourselves  for  the  long  ride  in  the  accommodation 
train  to  the  city.  "That  warning  means  that  we  have 
two  people  to  protect — both  Brixton  and  his  daugh- 
ter." 

Speculate  as  I  might,  I  could  find  no  answer  to  the 
mystery,  nor  to  the  question,  which  was  also  unsolved, 
as  to  the  queer  malady  of  Brixton  himself,  which  his 
physician  diagnosed  as  jaundice. 


VI 

The  Detectaphone 

FAB  after  midnight  though  it  had  been  when  we 
had  at  last  turned  in  at  our  apartment,  Ken- 
nedy was  up  even  earlier  than  usual  in  the  morning. 
I  found  him  engrossed  in  work  at  the  laboratory. 

"Just  in  time  to  see  whether  I'm  right  in  my  guess 
about  the  illness  of  Brixton,"  he  remarked,  scarcely 
looking  up  at  me. 

He  had  taken  a  flask  with  a  rubber  stopper. 
Through  one  hole  in  it  was  fitted  a  long  funnel; 
through  another  ran  a  glass  tube,  connecting  with  a 
large  U-shaped  drying-tube  filled  with  calcium  chlo- 
ride, which  in  turn  connected  with  a  long  open  tube 
with  an  up-turned  end. 

Into  the  flask  Craig  dropped  some  pure  granulated 
zinc  coated  with  platinum.  Then  he  covered  it  with 
dilute  sulphuric  acid  through  the  funnel  tube. 
"That  forms  hydrogen  gas,"  he  explained,  "which 
passes  through  the  drying-tube  and  the  ignition-tube. 
Wait  a  moment  until  all  the  air  is  expelled  from  the 
tubes." 

He  lighted  a  match  and  touched  it  to  the  open  up- 
turned end.  The  hydrogen,  now  escaping  freely,  was 
ignited  with  a  pale-blue  flame. 

Next,  he  took  the  little  piece  of  wall-paper  I  Jiad 
seen  him  tear  off  in  the  den,  scraped  off  some  powder 

90 


The  Detectaphone  91 

from  it,  dissolved  it,  and  poured  it  into  the  funnel- 
tube. 

Almost  immediately  the  pale,  bluish  flame  turned 
to  bluish  white,  and  white  fumes  were  formed.  In 
the  ignition-tube  a  sort  of  metallic  deposit  appeared. 
Quickly  he  made  one  test  after  another.  I  sniffed. 
There  was  an  unmistakable  smell  of  garlic  in  the  air. 

"Arseniureted  hydrogen,"  commented  Craig. 
"This  is  the  Marsh  test  for  arsenic.  That  wall-pa- 
per in  Brixton's  den  has  been  loaded  down  with  ar- 
senic, probably  Paris  green  or  Schweinfurth  green, 
which  is  aceto-arsenite  of  copper.  Every  minute  he 
is  there  he  is  breathing  arseniureted  hydrogen.  Some 
one  has  contrived  to  introduce  free  hydrogen  into 
the  intake  of  his  ventilator.  That  acts  on  the  arsenic 
compounds  in  the  wall-paper  and  hangings  and  sets 
free  the  gas.  I  thought  I  knew  the  smell  the  moment 
I  got  a  whiff  of  it.  Besides,  I  could  tell  by  the  jaun- 
diced look  of  his  face  that  he  was  being  poisoned. 
His  liver  v/as  out  of  order,  and  arsenic  seems  to  ac- 
cumulate in  the  liver." 

"Slowly  poisoned  by  minute  quantities  of  gas,"  I 
repeated  in  amazement.  "Some  one  in  that  Red 
Brotherhood  is  a  diabolical  genius.  Think  of  it — 
poisoned  wall-paper!" 

It  was  still  early  in  the  forenoon  when  Kennedy 
excused  himself,  and  leaving  me  to  my  own  devices 
disappeared  on  one  of  his  excursions  into  the  under- 
world of  the  foreign  settlements  on  the  East  Side. 
About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  he  reappeared. 
As  far  as  I  could  learn  all  that  he  had  found  out  was 
that  the  famous,  or  rather  infamous,  Professor  Mi- 


92  The  Dream  Doctor 

chael  Kumanova,  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  Ked  Broth- 
erhood, was  known  to  be  somewhere  in  this  country. 

We  lost  no  time  in  returning  again  to  Woodrock 
late  that  afternoon.  Craig  hastened  to  warn  Brix- 
ton  of  his  peril  from  the  contaminated  atmosphere 
of  the  den,  and  at  once  a  servant  was  set  to  work 
with  a  vacuum  cleaner. 

Carefully  Craig  reconnoitred  the  basement  where 
the  eavesdropping  storeroom  was  situated.  Finding 
it  deserted,  he  quickly  set  to  work  connecting  the  two 
wires  of  the  general  household  telephone  with  what 
looked  very  much  like  a  seamless  iron  tube,  perhaps 
six  inches  long  and  three  inches  in  diameter.  Then 
he  connected  the  tube  also  with  the  private  wire  of 
Brixton  in  a  similar  manner. 

"This  is  a  special  repeating-coil  of  high  efficiency," 
he  explained  in  answer  to  my  inquiry.  "It  is  abso- 
lutely balanced  as  to  resistance,  number  of  turns,  and 
everything.  I  shall  run  this  third  line  from  the  coil 
into  Brixton's  den,  and  then,  if  you  like,  you  can  ac- 
company me  on  a  little  excursion  down  to  the  village 
where  I  am  going  to  install  another  similar  coil  be- 
tween the  two  lines  at  the  local  telephone  central  sta- 
tion opposite  the  railroad." 

Brixton  met  us  about  eight  o'clock  that  night  in  his 
now  renovated  den.  Apparently,  even  the  little 
change  from  uncertainty  to  certainty  so  far  had  had 
a  tonic  effect  on  him.  I  had,  however,  almost  given 
up  the  illusion  that  it  was  possible  for  us  to  be  even 
in  the  den  without  being  watched  by  an  unseen  eye. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  to  one  who  could  conceive  of 


The  Detectaphone  93 

talking  through  an  incandescent  lamp  seeing,  even 
through  steel  and  masonry,  was  not  impossible. 

Kennedy  had  brought  with  him  a  rectangular  box 
of  oak,  in  one  of  the  large  faces  of  which  were  two 
square  holes.  As  he  replaced  the  black  camera-like 
box  of  the  detectaphone  with  this  oak  box  he  re- 
marked: "This  is  an  intercommunicating  telephone 
arrangement  of  the  detectaphone.  You  see,  it  is 
more  sensitive  than  anything  of  the  sort  ever  made 
before.  The  arrangement  of  these  little  square  holes 
is  such  as  to  make  them  act  as  horns  or  magnifiers  of 
a  double  receiver.  We  can  all  hear  at  once  what  is 
going  on  by  using  this  machine." 

We  had  not  been  waiting  long  before  a  peculiar 
noise  seemed  to  issue  from  the  detectaphone.  It  was 
as  though  a  door  had  been  opened  and  shut  hastily. 
Some  one  had  evidently  entered  the  storeroom.  A 
voice  called  up  the  railroad  station  and  asked  for 
Michael  Kronski,  Count  Wachtmann's  chauffeur. 

"It  is  the  voice  I  heard  last  night/'  exclaimed  Brix- 
ton.  "By  the  Lord  Harry,  do  you  know,  it  is  Janeff 
the  engineer  who  has  charge  of  the  steam  heating,  the 
electric  bells,  and  everything  of  the  sort  around  the 
place.  My  own  engineer — I'll  land  the  fellow  in  jail 
before  I'll—" 

Kennedy  raised  his  hand.  "Let  us  hear  what  he 
has  to  say,"  remonstrated  Craig  calmly.  "I  suppose 
you  have  wondered  why  I  didn't  just  go  down  there 
last  night  and  grab  the  fellow.  Well,  you  see  now. 
It  is  my  invariable  rule  to  get  the  man  highest  up. 
This  fellow  is  only  one  tool.  Arrest  him,  and  as 


94  The  Dream  Doctor 

likely  as  not  we  should  allow  the  big  criminal  to  es- 
cape." 

"Hello,  Kronski!"  came  over  the  detectaphone. 
"This  is  Janeff.  How  are  things  going?" 

Wachtmann's  chauffeur  must  have  answered  that 
everything  was  all  right. 

"You  knew  that  they  had  discovered  the  poisoned 
wall-paper?"  asked  Janeff. 

A  long  parley  followed.  Finally,  Janeff  repeated 
what  apparently  had  been  his  instructions.  "Now, 
let  me  see,"  he  said.  "You  want  me  to  stay  here  un- 
til the  last  minute  so  that  I  can  overhear  whether  any 
alarm  is  given  for  her?  All  right.  You're  sure  it 
is  the  nine-o'clock  train  she  is  due  on?  Very  well. 
I  shall  meet  you  at  the  ferry  across  the  Hudson.  I'll 
start  from  here  as  soon  as  I  hear  the  train  come  in. 
We'll  get  the  girl  this  time.  That  will  bring  Brix- 
ton  to  terms  sure.  You're  right.  Even  if  we  fail 
this  time,  we'll  succeed  later.  Don't  fail  me.  I'll 
be  at  the  ferry  as  soon  as  I  can  get  past  the  guards 
and  join  you.  There  isn't  a  chance  of  an  alarm  from 
the  house.  I'll  cut  all  the  wires  the  last  thing  before 
I  leave.  Good-bye." 

All  at  once  it  dawned  on  me  what  they  were  plan- 
ning— the  kidnapping  of  Brixton's  only  daughter,  to 
hold  her,  perhaps,  as  a  hostage  until  he  did  the  bid- 
ding of  the  gang.  Wachtmann's  chauffeur  was  do 
ing  it  and  using  Wachtmann's  car,  too.  Was  Wacht- 
mann  a  party  to  it? 

What  was  to  be  done?  I  looked  at  my  watch.  It 
was  already  only  a  couple  of  minutes  of  nine,  when 
the  train  would  be  due. 


The  Detectaphone  95 

\ 

"If  we  could  seize  that  fellow  in  the  closet  and  start 
for  the  station  immediately  we  might  save  Yvonne," 
cried  Brixton,  starting  for  the  door. 

"And  if  they  escape  you  make  them  more  eager 
than  ever  to  strike  a  blow  at  you  and  yours,"  put  in 
Craig  coolly.  "No,  let  us  get  this  thing  straight.  I 
didn't  think  it  was  as  serious  as  this,  but  I'm  pre- 
pared to  meet  any  emergency." 

"But,  man,"  shouted  Brixton,  "you  don't  suppose 
anything  in  the  world  counts  beside  her,  do  you?" 

"Exactly  the  point,"  urged  Craig.  "Save  her  and 
capture  them — both  at  once." 

"How  can  you?"  fumed  Brixton.  "If  you  attempt 
to  telephone  from  here,  that  fellow  Janeff  will  over- 
hear and  give  a  warning." 

Regardless  of  whether  Janeff  was  listening  or  not, 
Kennedy  was  eagerly  telephoning  to  the  Woodrock 
central  down  in  the  village.  He  was  using  the  trans- 
mitter and  receiver  that  were  connected  with  the  iron 
tube  which  he  had  connected  to  the  two  regular  house 
lines. 

"Have  the  ferry  held  at  any  cost,"  he  was  ordering. 
"Don't  let  the  next  boat  go  out  until  Mr.  Brixton  gets 
there,  under  any  circumstances.  Now  put  that  to 
them  straight,  central.  You  know  Mr.  Brixton  has 
just  a  little  bit  of  influence  around  here,  and  some- 
body's head  will  drop  if  they  let  that  boat  go  out  be- 
fore he  gets  there." 

"Humph!"  ejaculated  Brixton.  "Much  good  that 
will  do.  Why,  I  suppose  our  friend  Janeff  down  in 
the  storeroom  knows  it  all  now.  Come  on,  let's  grab 
him." 

7 


96  The  Dream  Doctor 

Nevertheless  there  was  no  sound  from  the  detecta- 
phone  which  would  indicate  that  he  had  overheard 
and  was  spreading  the  alarm.  He  was  there  yet, 
for  we  could  hear  him  clear  his  throat  once  or 
twice. 

"No/'  replied  Kennedy  calmly,  "he  knows  nothing 
about  it.  I  didn't  use  any  ordinary  means  to  pre- 
pare against  the  experts  who  have  brought  this  situ- 
ation about.  That  message  you  heard  me  send  went 
out  over  what  we  call  the  'phantom  circuit.' ' 

"The  phantom  circuit?"  repeated  Brixton,  chafing 
at  the  delay. 

"Yes,  it  seems  fantastic  at  first,  I  suppose,"  pur- 
sued Kennedy  calmly ;  "but,  after  all,  it  is  in  accord- 
ance with  the  laws  of  electricity.  It's  no  use  fretting 
and  fuming,  Mr.  Brixton.  If  Janeff  can  wait,  we'll 
have  to  do  so,  too.  Suppose  we  should  start  and  this 
Kronski  should  change  his  plans  at  the  last  minute? 
How  would  we  find  it  out?  By  telepathy?  Believe 
me,  sir,  it  is  better  to  wait  here  a  minute  and  trust 
to  the  phantom  circuit  than  to  mere  chance." 

"But  suppose  he  should  cut  the  line,"  I  put  in. 

Kennedy  smiled.  "I  have  provided  for  that,  Wal- 
ter, in  the  way  I  installed  the  thing.  I  took  good 
care  that  we  could  not  be  cut  off  that  way.  We  can 
hear  everything  ourselves,  but  we  cannot  be  over- 
heard. He  knows  nothing.  You  see,  I  took  advan- 
tage of  the  fact  that  additional  telephones  or  so- 
called  phantom  lines  can  be  superposed  on  existing 
physical  lines.  It  is  possible  to  obtain  a  third  cir- 
cuit from  two  similar  metallic  circuits^  by  using  for 
each  side  of  this  third  circuit  the  two  wires  of  each  of 


The  Detectaphone  97 

the  other  circuits  in  multiple.    All  three  circuits  are 
independent,  too. 

"The  third  telephone  current  enters  the  wires  of 
the  first  circuit,  as  it  were,  and  returns  along  the 
wires  of  the  second  circuit.  There  are  several  ways 
of  doing  it.  One  is  to  use  retardation  or  choke-coils 
bridged  across  the  two  metallic  circuits  at  both  ends, 
with  taps  taken  from  the  middle  points  of  each.  But 
the  more  desirable  method  is  the  one  you  saw  me  in- 
stall this  afternoon.  I  introduced  repeating-coils 
into  the  circuits  at  both  ends.  Technically,  the  third 
circuit  is  then  taken  off  from  the  mid-points  of  the 
secondaries  or  line  windings  of  these  repeating  coils. 

"The  current  on  a  long-distance  line  is  alternating 
in  character,  and  it  passes  readily  through  a  repeat- 
ing-coil.  The  only  effect  it  has  on  the  transmission 
is  slightly  reducing  the  volume.  The  current  passes 
into  the  repeating-coil,  then  divides  and  passes 
through  the  two  line  wires.  At  the  other  end  the 
halves  balance,  so  to  speak.  Thus,  currents  passing 
over  a  phantom  circuit  don't  set  up  currents  in  the 
terminal  apparatus  of  the  side  circuits.  Conse- 
quently, a  conversation  carried  on  over  the  phantom 
circuit  will  not  be  heard  in  either  side  circuit,  nor 
does  a  conversation  on  one  side  circuit  affect  the 
phantom.  We  could  all  talk  at  once  without  inter- 
fering with  each  other." 

"At  any  other  time  I  should  be  more  than  inter- 
ested," remarked  Brixton  grimly,  curbing  his  impa- 
tience to  be  doing  something. 

"I  appreciate  that,  sir,"  rejoined  Kennedy.  "Ah, 
here  it  is.  I  have  the  central  down  in  the  village. 


98  The  Dream  Doctor 

Yes?  They  will  hold  the  boat  for  us?  Good. 
Thank  you.  The  nine-o'clock  train  is  five  minutes 
late?  Yes — what?  Count  Wachtmann's  car  is 
there?  Oh,  yes,  the  train  is  just  pulling  in.  I  see. 
Miss  Brixton  has  entered  his  car  alone.  What's 
that?  His  chauffeur  has  started  the  car  without 
waiting  for  the  Count,  who  is  coming  down  the  plat- 
form?" 

Instantly  Kennedy  was  on  his  feet.  He  was  dash- 
ing up  the  corridor  and  the  stairs  from  the  den  and 
down  into  the  basement  to  the  little  storeroom. 

We  burst  into  the  place.  It  was  empty.  Janeff 
had  cut  the  wires  and  fled.  There  was  not  a  moment 
to  lose.  Craig  hastily  made  sure  that  he  had  not  dis- 
r>overed  or  injured  the  phantom  circuit. 

5<Call  the  fastest  car  you  have  in  your  garage,  Mr. 
tfrixton,"  ordered  Kennedy.  "Hello,  hello,  central! 
Get  the  lodge  at  the  Brixton  estate.  Tell  them  if 
they  see  the  engineer  Janeff  going  out  to  stop  him. 
Alarm  the  watchman  and  have  the  dogs  ready. 
Catch  him  at  any  cost,  dead  or  alive." 

A  moment  later  Brixton's  car  raced  around,  ana 
we  piled  in  and  were  off  like  a  whirlwind.  Already 
we  could  see  lights  moving  about  and  hear  the  baying 
of  dogs.  Personally,  I  wouldn't  have  given  much  for 
Taneff's  chances  of  escape. 

As  we  turned  the  bend  in  the  road  just  before  we 
reached  the  ferry,  we  almost  ran  into  two  cars  stand- 
ing before  the  ferry  house.  It  looked  as  though  one 
had  run  squarely  in  front  of  the  other  and  blocked 
it  off.  In  the  slip  the  ferry  boat  was  still  steaming 
and  waiting. 


The  Detectaphone  99 

Beside  the  wrecked  car  a  man  was  lying  on  the 
ground  groaning,  while  another  man  was  quieting  a 
girl  whom  he  was  leading  to  the  waiting-room  of  the 
ferry. 

Brixton,  weak  though  he  was  from  his  illness- 
leaped  out  of  our  car  almost  before  we  stopped  and 
caught  the  girl  in  his  arms. 

"Father!"  she  exclaimed,  clinging  to  him. 

"What's  this?"  he  demanded  sternly,  eying  the  man. 
It  was  Wachtmann  himself. 

"Conrad  saved  me  from  that  chauffeur  of  his,"  ex- 
plained Miss  Brixton.  "I  met  him  on  the  train,  and 
we  were  going  to  ride  up  to  the  house  together.  But 
before  Conrad  could  get  into  the  car  this  fellow,  who 
had  the  engine  running,  started  it.  Conrad  jumped 
into  another  car  that  was  waiting  at  the  station.  He 
overtook  us  and  dodged  in  front  so  as  to  cut  the 
chauffeur  off  from  the  ferry." 

"Curse  that  villain  of  a  chauffeur,"  muttered 
Wachtmann,  looking  down  at  the  wounded  man. 

"Do  you  know  who  he  is?"  asked  Craig  with  a 
searching  glance  at  Wachtmann's  face. 

"I  ought  to.  His  name  is  Kronski,  and  a  blacker 
devil  an  employment  bureau  never  furnished." 

"Kronski?  No,"  corrected  Kennedy.  "It  is  Pro- 
fessor Kumanova,  whom  you  perhaps  have  heard  of 
as  a  leader  of  the  Red  Brotherhood,  one  of  the  clever- 
est scientific  criminals  who  ever  lived.  I  think  you'll 
have  no  more  trouble  negotiating  your  loan  or  your 
love  affair,  Count,"  added  Craig,  turning  on  his  heel. 

He  was  in  no  mood  to  receive  the  congratulations 
of  the  supercilious  Wachtmann.  As  far  as  Craig 


100  ,The  Dream  Doctor 

was  concerned,  the  case  was  finished,  although  1  fan- 
cied from  a  flicker  of  his  eye  as  he  made  some  passing 
reference  to  the  outcome  that  when  he  came  to  send 
in  a  bill  to  Brixton  for  his  services  he  would  not  for- 
get the  high  eyebrowed  Count. 

I  followed  in  silence  as  Craig  climbed  into  the  Brix- 
ton car  and  explained  to  the  banker  that  it  was  im- 
perative that  he  should  get  back  to  the  city  immedi- 
ately. Nothing  would  do  but  that  the  car  must  take 
us  all  the  way  back,  while  Brixton  summoned  an- 
other from  the  house  for  himself. 

The  ride  was  accomplished  swiftly  in  record  time. 
Kennedy  said  little.  Apparently  the  exhilaration  of 
the  on-rush  of  cool  air  was  quite  in  keeping  with  his 
mood,  though  for  my  part,  I  should  have  preferred 
something  a  little  more  relaxing  of  the  nervous  ten- 
sion. 

"We've  been  at  it  five  days,  now,"  I  remarked  wear- 
ily as  I  dropped  into  an  easy  chair  in  our  own  quar- 
ters. "Are  you  going  to  keep  up  this  debauch?" 

Kennedy  laughed. 

"No,"  he  said  with  a  twinkle  of  scientific  mischief, 
"no,  I'm  going  to  sleep  it  off." 

"Thank  heaven!"  I  muttered. 

"Because,"  he  went  on  seriously,  "that  case  inter- 
rupted a  long  series  of  tests  I  am  making  on  the  sen- 
sitiveness of  selenium  to  light,  and  I  want  to  finish 
them  up  soon.  There's  no  telling  wThen  I  shall  be 
called  on  to  use  the  information." 

I  swallowed  hard.  He  really  meant  it.  He  was 
laying  out  more  work  for  himself. 

Next  morning  I  fully  expected  to  find  that  he  had 


The  Detectaphone  101 

gone.  Instead  he  was  preparing  for  what  he  called 
a  quiet  day  in  the  laboratory. 

"Now  for  some  real  work,"  he  smiled.  "Some- 
times, Walter,  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  give  up  this  out- 
side activity  and  devote  myself  entirely  to  research. 
It  is  so  much  more  important.'' 

I  could  only  stare  at  him  and  reflect  on  how  often 
men  wanted  to  do  something  other  than  the  very 
thing  that  nature  had  evidently  intended  them  to  do, 
and  on  how  fortunate  it  was  that  we  were  not  always 
free  agents. 

He  set  out  for  the  laboratory  and  I  determined 
that  as  long  as  he  would  not  stop  working,  neither 
would  I.  I  tried  to  write.  Somehow  I  was  not  in 
the  mood.  I  wrote  at  my  story,  but  succeeded  only 
in  making  it  more  unintelligible.  I  was  in  no  fit  con- 
dition for  it. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon.  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  to  use  force,  if  necessary,  to  separate  Kennedy 
from  his  study  of  selenium.  My  idea  was  that  any- 
thing from  the  Metropolitan  to  the  "movies"  would 
do  him  good,  and  I  had  almost  carried  my  point  when 
a  big,  severely  plain  black  foreign  limousine  pulled 
up  with  a  rush  at  the  laboratory  door.  A  large  man 
in  a  huge  fur  coat  jumped  out  and  the  next  moment 
strode  into  the  room.  He  needed  no  introduction, 
for  we  recognised  at  once  J.  Perry  Spencer,  one  of 
the  foremost  of  American  financiers  and  a  trustee  of 
the  university. 

With  that  characteristic  directness  which  I  have 
always  thought  accounted  in  large  measure  for  his 
success,  he  wasted  scarcely  a  word  in  coming  straight 


102  The  Dream  Doctor 

to  the  object  of  his  visit.  "Professor  Kennedy/'  he 
began,  chewing  his  cigar  and  gazing  about  with  evi- 
dent interest  at  the  apparatus  Craig  had  collected 
in  his  warfare  of  science  with  crime,  "I  have  dropped 
in  here  as  a  matter  of  patriotism.  I  want  you  to  pre- 
serve to  America  those  masterpieces  of  art  and  liter- 
ature which  I  have  collected  all  over  the  world  during 
many  years.  They  are  the  objects  of  one  of  the  most 
curious  pieces  of  vandalism  of  which  I  have  ever 
heard.  Professor  Kennedy,"  he  concluded  ear- 
nestly, "could  I  ask  you  to  call  on  Dr.  Hugo  Lith, 
the  curator  of  my  private  museum,  as  soon  as  you  can 
possibly  find  it  convenient?" 

"Most  assuredly,  Mr.  Spencer,"  replied  Craig,  with 
a  whimsical  side  glance  at  me  that  told  without  words 
that  this  was  better  relaxation  to  him  than  either  the 
Metropolitan  or  the  "movies."  "I  shall  be  glad  to 
see  Dr.  Lith  at  any  time — right  now,  if  it  is  con- 
venient to  him." 

The  millionaire  connoisseur  consulted  his  watch. 
"Lith  will  be  at  the  museum  until  six,  at  least,  Yes, 
we  can  catch  him  there.  I  have  a  dinner  engagement 
at  seven  myself.  I  can  give  you  half  an  hour  of  the 
time  before  then.  If  you're  ready,  just  jump  into 
the  car,  both  of  you." 

The  museum  to  which  he  referred  was  a  handsome 
white  marble  building,  in  Renaissance,  fronting  on  a 
side  street  just  off  Fifth  Avenue  and  in  the  rear  of 
the  famous  Spencer  house,  itself  one  of  the  show 
places  of  that  wonderful  thoroughfare.  Spencer  had 
built  the  museum  at  great  cost  simply  to  house  those 
treasures  which  were  too  dear  to  him  to  entrust  to  a 


The  Detectaphone  103 

public  institution.  It  was  in  the  shape  of  a  rectan- 
gle and  planned  with  special  care  as  to  the  lighting. 

Dr.  Lith,  a  rather  stout,  mild-eyed  German  savant, 
plunged  directly  into  the  middle  of  things  as  soon  as 
we  had  been  introduced.  "It  is  a  most  remarkable 
affair,  gentlemen,"  he  began,  placing  for  us  chairs 
that  must  have  been  hundreds  of  years  old.  "At  first 
it  was  only  those  objects  in  the  museum  that  were 
green  that  were  touched,  like  the  collection  of  famous 
and  historic  French  emeralds.  But  soon  we  found  it 
was  other  things,  too,  that  were  missing — old  Roman 
coins  of  gold,  a  collection  of  watches,  and  I  know 
not  what  else  until  we  have  gone  over  the — 

"Where  is  Miss  White?"  interrupted  Spencer,  who 
had  been  listening  somewhat  impatiently. 

"In  the  library,  sir.     Shall  I  call  her?" 

"No,  I  will  go  myself.  I  want  her  to  tell  her  ex- 
perience to  Professor  Kennedy  exactly  as  she  told  it 
to  me.  Explain  while  I  am  gone  how  impossible  it 
would  be  for  a  visitor  to  do  one,  to  say  nothing  of  all, 
of  the  acts  of  vandalism  we  have  discovered." 


VII 

The  Green  Curse 

THE  American  Medici  disappeared  into  his  main 
library,  where  Miss  White  was  making  a  mi- 
nute examination  to  determine  what  damage  had 
been  done  in  the  realm  over  which  she  presided. 

"Apparently  every  book  with  a  green  binding  has 
been  mutilated  in  some  way,"  resumed  Dr.  Lith,  "but 
that  was  only  the  beginning.  Others  have  suffered, 
too,  and  some  are  even  gone.  It  is  impossible  that 
any  visitor  could  have  done  it.  Only  a  few  personal 
friends  of  Mr.  Spencer  are  ever  admitted  here,  and 
they  are  never  alone.  No,  it  is  weird,  mysterious." 

Just  then  Spencer  returned  with  Miss  White.  She 
was  an  extremely  attractive  girl,  slight  of  figure,  but 
with  an  air  about  her  that  all  the  imported  gowns  in 
New  York  could  not  have  conferred.  They  were  en- 
gaged in  animated  conversation,  so  much  in  contrast 
with  the  bored  air  with  which  Spencer  had  listened 
to  Dr.  Lith  that  even  I  noticed  that  the  connoisseur 
was  completely  obliterated  in  the  man,  whose  love  of 
beauty  was  by  no  means  confined  to  the  inanimate. 
I  wondered  if  it  was  merely  his  interest  in  her  story 
that  impelled  Spencer.  The  more  I  watched  the  girl 
the  more  I  was  convinced  that  she  knew  that  she  was 
interesting  to  the  millionaire. 

"For  example,"  Dr.  Lith  was  saying,  "the  famous 

104 


The  Green  Curse  105 

collection  of  emeralds  which  has  disappeared  has  al- 
ways been  what  you  Americans  call  'hoodooed.'  They 
have  always  brought  ill  luck,  and,  like  many  things 
of  the  sort  to  which  superstition  attaches,  they  have 
been  'banked/  so  to  speak,  by  their  successive  owners 
in  museums." 

"Are  they  salable ;  that  is,  could  any  one  dispose  of 
the  emeralds  or  the  other  curios  with,  reasonable 
safety  and  at  a  good  price?" 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,"  hastened  Dr.  Lith,  "not  as  collec- 
tions, but  separately.  The  emeralds  alone  cost  fifty 
thousand  dollars.  I  believe  Mr.  Spencer  bought 
them  for  Mrs.  Spencer  some  years  before  she  died. 
She  did  not  care  to  wear  them,  however,  and  had  them 
placed  here." 

I  thought  I  noticed  a  shade  of  annoyance  cross  the 
face  of  the  magnate.  "Never  mind  that,"  he  inter- 
rupted. "Let  me  introduce  Miss  White.  I  think 
you  will  find  her  story  one  of  the  most  uncanny  you 
have  ever  heard." 

He  had  placed  a  chair  for  her  and,  still  addressing 
us  but  looking  at  her,  went  on:  "It  seems  that  the 
morning  the  vandalism  was  first  discovered  she  and 
Dr.  Lith  at  once  began  a  thorough  search  of  the  build- 
ing to  ascertain  the  extent  of  the  depredations.  The 
search  lasted  all  day,  and  well  into  the  night.  I  be- 
lieve it  was  midnight  before  you  finished?" 

"It  was  almost  twelve,"  began  the  girl,  in  a  musical 
voice  that  was  too  Parisian  to  harmonize  with  her 
plain  Anglo-Saxon  name,  "when  Dr.  Lith  was  down 
here  in  his  office  checking  off  the  objects  in  the  cata- 
logue which  .were  either  injured  or  missing.  I  had 


106  The  Dream  Doctor 

been  working  in  the  library.  The  noise  of  something 
like  a  shade  flapping  in  the  wind  attracted  my  atten- 
tion. I  listened.  It  seemed  to  come  from  the  art- 
gallery,  a  large  room  up-stairs  where  some  of  the 
greatest  masterpieces  in  this  country  are  hung.  I 
hurried  up  there. 

"Just  as  I  reached  the  door  a  strange  feeling  seemed 
to  come  over  me  that  I  was  not  alone  in  that  room. 
I  fumbled  for  the  electric  light  switch,  but  in  my 
nervousness  could  not  find  it.  There  was  just  enough 
light  in  the  room  to  make  out  objects  indistinctly.  I 
thought  I  heard  a  low,  moaning  sound  from  an  old 
Blemish  copper  ewer  near  me,  I  had  heard  that  it 
was  supposed  to  groan  at  night." 

She  paused  and  shuddered  at  her  recollection,  and 
looked  about  as  if  grateful  for  the  flood  of  electric 
light  that  now  illuminated  everything.  Spencer 
reached  over  and  touched  her  arm  to  encourage  her 
to  go  on.  She  did  not  seem  to  resent  the  touch. 

"Opposite  me,  in  the  middle  of  the  open  floor,"  she 
resumed,  her  eyes  dilated  and  her  breath  coming  and 
going  rapidly,  "stood  the  mummy-case  of  Ka,  an 
Egyptian  priestess  of  Thebes,  I  think.  The  case  was 
empty,  but  on  the  lid  was  painted  a  picture  of  the 
priestess!  Such  wonderful  eyes!  They  seem  to 
pierce  right  through  your  very  soul.  Often  in  the 
daytime  I  have  stolen  off  to  look  at  them.  But  at 
night — remember  the  hour  of  night,  too — oh,  it  was 
awful,  terrible.  The  lid  of  the  mummy-case  moved. 
yes,  really  moved,  and  seemed  to  float  to  one  side.  I 
could  see  it.  And  back  of  that  carved  and  painted 
face  with  the  piercing  eyes  was  another  face,  a 


The  Green  Curse  107 

face,  real  eyes,  and  they  looked  out  at  me  with  such 
hatred  from  the  place  that  I  knew  was  empty — " 

She  had  risen  and  was  facing  us  with  wild  terror 
written  on  her  face  as  if  in  appeal  for  protection 
against  something  she  was  powerless  to  name.  Spen- 
cer, who  had  not  taken  his  hand  off  her  arm,  gently 
pressed  her  back  into  the  easy  chair  and  finished  the 
story. 

"She  screamed  and  fainted.  Dr.  Lith  heard  it  and 
rushed  up-stairs.  There  she  lay  on  the  floor.  The 
lid  of  the  sarcophagus  had  really  been  moved.  He 
saw  it.  Not  a  thing  else  had  been  disturbed.  He 
carried  her  down  here  and  revived  her,  told  her  to 
rest  for  a  day  or  two,  but — " 

"I  cannot,  I  cannot,"  she  cried.  "It  is  the  fasci- 
nation of  the  thing.  It  brings  me  back  here.  I 
dream  of  it.  I  thought  I  saw  those  eyes  the  other 
night.  They  haunt  me.  I  fear  them,  and  yet  I  would 
not  avoid  them,  if  it  killed  me  to  look.  I  must  meet 
and  defy  the  power.  What  is  it?  Is  it  a  curse  four 
thousand  years  old  that  has  fallen  on  me?" 

I  had  heard  stories  of  mummies  that  rose  from  their 
sleep  of  centuries  to  tell  the  fate  of  some  one  when 
it  was  hanging  in  the  balance,  of  mummies  that 
groaned  and  gurgled  and  fought  for  breath,  frantic- 
ally beating  with  their  swathed  hands  in  the  witch- 
ing hours  of  the  night.  And  I  knew  that  the  lure  of 
these  mummies  was  so  strong  for  some  people  that 
they  were  drawn  irresistibly  to  look  upon  and  confer 
with  them.  Was  this  a  case  for  the  oculists,  the 
spiritualists,  the  Egyptologists,  or  for  a  detective? 

"I  should  like  to  examine  the  art  gallery,  in  fact, 


108  The  Dream  Doctor 

go  over  the  whole  museum,"  put  in  Kennedy  in  his 
most  matter-of-fact  tone. 

Spencer,  with  a  glance  at  his  watch,  excused  him' 
self,  nodding  to  Dr.  Lith  to  show  us  about,  and  with  a 
good  night  to  Miss  White  which  was  noticeable  for  its 
sympathy  with  her  fears,  said,  "I  shall  be  at  the  house 
v  for  another  half-hour  at  least,  in  case  anything  really 
important  develops." 

A  few  minutes  later  Miss  White  left  for  the  night, 
with  apparent  reluctance,  and  yet,  I  thought,  with 
just  a  little  shudder  as  she  looked  back  up  the  stair- 
case that  led  to  the  art-gallery. 

Dr.  Lith  led  us  into  a  large  vaulted  marble  hall 
and  up  a  broad  flight  of  steps,  past  beautiful  carvings 
and  frescoes  that  I  should  have  liked  to  stop  and  ad- 
mire. 

The  art-gallery  was  a  long  room  in  the  interior  and 
at  the  top  of  the  building,  windowless  but  lighted  by 
a  huge  double  skylight  each  half  of  which  must  have 
been  some  eight  or  ten  feet  across.  The  light  falling 
through  this  skylight  passed  through  plate  glass  of 
marvellous  transparency.  One  looked  up  at  the  sky 
as  if  through  the  air  itself. 

Kennedy  ignored  the  gallery's  profusion  of  price- 
less art  for  the  time  and  went  directly  to  the  mummy- 
case  of  the  priestess  Ka. 

"It  has  a  weird  history,"  remarked  Dr.  Lith.  "No 
less  than  seven  deaths,  as  well  as  many  accidents, 
have  been  attributed  to  the  malign  influence  of  that 
greenish  yellow  coffin.  You  know  the  ancient  Egyp- 
tians used  to  chant  as  they  buried  their  sacred  dead: 
*Woe  to  him  who  injures  the  tomb.  The  dead  shall 


The  Green  Curse  109 

point  out  the  evildoer  to  the  Devourer  of  the  Under- 
world. Soul  and  body  shall  be  destroyed.' ' 

It  was  indeed  an  awesome  thing.  It  represented  a 
woman  in  the  robes  of  an  Egyptian  priestess,  a  woman 
of  medium  height,  with  an  inscrutable  face.  The 
slanting  Egyptian  eyes  did,  as  Miss  White  had  said, 
almost  literally  stare  through  you.  I  am  sure  that 
any  one  possessing  a  nature  at  all  affected  by  such 
things  might  after  a  few  minutes  gazing  at  them  in 
self-hypnotism  really  convince  himself  that  the  eyes 
moved  and  were  real.  Even  as  I  turned  and  looked 
the  other  way  I  felt  that  those  penetrating  eyes  were 
still  looking  at  me,  never  asleep,  always  keen  and 
searching. 

There  was  no  awe  about  Kennedy.  He  carefully 
pushed  aside  the  lid  and  peered  inside.  I  almost  ex- 
pected to  see  some  one  in  there.  A  moment  later  he 
pulled  out  his  magnifying-glass  and  carefully  exam- 
ined the  interior.  At  last  he  was  apparently  satis- 
fied with  his  search.  He  had  narrowed  his  attention 
down  to  a  few  marks  on  the  stone,  partly  in  the  thin 
layer  of  dust  that  had  collected  on  the  bottom. 

"This  was  a  very  modern  and  material  reincarna- 
tion," he  remarked,  as  he  rose.  "If  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, the  apparition  wore  shoes,  shoes  with  nails  in 
the  heels,  and  nails  that  are  not  like  those  in  American 
shoes.  I  shall  have  to  compare  the  marks  I  have 
found  with  marks  I  have  copied  from  shoe-nails  in 
the  wonderful  collection  of  M.  Bertillon.  Offhand, 
I  should  say  that  the  shoes  were  of  French  make." 

The  library  having  been  gone  over  next  without 
anything  attracting  Kennedy's  attention  particu- 


110  The  Dream  Doctor 

larly,  he  asked  about  the  basement  or  cellar.  Dr. 
Lith  lighted  the  way,  and  we  descended. 

Down  there  were  innumerable  huge  packing-cases 
which  had  just  arrived  from  abroad,  full  of  the  latest 
consignment  of  art  treasures  which  Spencer  had  pur- 
chased. Apparently  Dr.  Lith  and  Miss  White  had 
been  so  engrossed  in  discovering  what  damage  had 
been  done  to  the  art  treasures  above  that  they  had 
not  had  time  to  examine  the  new  ones  in  the  base- 
ment, 

Kennedy's  first  move  was  to  make  a  thorough 
search  of  all  the  little  grated  windows  and  a  door 
which  led  out  into  a  sort  of  little  area  way  for  the  re- 
moval of  ashes  and  refuse.  The  door  showed  no  evi- 
dence of  having  been  tampered  with,  nor  did  any  of 
the  windows  at  first  sight.  A  low  exclamation  from 
Kennedy  brought  us  to  his  side.  He  had  opened  one 
of  the  windows  and  thrust  his  hand  out  against  the 
grating,  which  had  fallen  on  the  outside  pavement 
with  a  clang.  The  bars  had  been  completely  and  la- 
boriously sawed  through,  and  the  whole  thing  had 
been  wedged  back  into  place  so  that  nothing  would 
be  detected  at  a  cursory  glance.  He  was  regarding 
the  lock  on  the  window.  Apparently  it  was  all  right ; 
actually  it  had  been  sprung  so  that  it  was  useless. 

"Most  persons,"  he  remarked,  "don't  know  enough 
about  jimmies.  Against  them  an  ordinary  door-lock 
or  window-catch  is  no  protection.  With  a  jimmy 
eighteen  inches  long  even  an  anaemic  burglar  can  exert 
a  pressure  sufficient  to  lift  two  tons.  Not  one  win- 
dow in  a  thousand  can  stand  that  strain.  The  only 


The  Green  Curse  111 

use  of  locks  is  to  keep  out  sneak-thieves  and  compel 
the  modern  scientific  educated  burglar  to  make  a 
noise.  But  making  a  noise  isn't  enough  here,  at 
night.  This  place  with  all  its  fabulous  treasures 
must  be  guarded  constantly,  now,  every  hour,  as  if 
the  front  door  were  wide  open." 

The  bars  replaced  and  the  window  apparently 
locked  as  before,  Craig  devoted  his  efforts  to  examin- 
ing the  packing  cases  in  the  basement.  As  yet  appa- 
rently nothing  down  there  had  been  disturbed.  But 
while  rummaging  about,  from  an  angle  formed  behind 
one  of  the  cases  he  drew  forth  a  cane,  to  all  appear- 
ances an  ordinary  Malacca  walking-stick.  He  bal- 
anced it  in  his  hand  a  moment,  then  shook  his  head. 

"Too  heavy  for  a  Malacca,"  he  ruminated.  Then 
an  idea  seemed  to  occur  to  him.  He  gave  the  handle 
a  twist.  Sure  enough,  it  came  off,  and  as  it  did  so  a 
bright  little  light  flashed  up. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  he  exclaimed. 
"For  a  scientific  dark-lantern  that  is  the  neatest  thing 
I  have  ever  seen.  An  electric  light  cane,  with  a  lit- 
tle incandescent  lamp  and  a  battery  hidden  in  it. 
This  grows  interesting.  We  must  at  last  have  found 
the  cache  of  a  real  gentleman  burglar  such  as  Ber- 
tillon  says  exists  only  in  books.  I  wonder  if  he  has 
anything  else  hidden  back  here." 

He  reached  down  and  pulled  out  a  peculiar  little 
instrument — a  single  blue  steel  cylinder.  He  fitted 
a  hard  rubber  cap  snugly  into  the  palm  of  his  hand, 
and  with  the  first  and  middle  fingers  encircled  the 
cylinder  over  a  steel  ring  near  the  other  end. 


112  The  Dream  Doctor 

A  loud  report  followed,  and  a  vase,  just  unpacked, 
at  the  opposite  end  of  the  basement  was  shattered  as 
if  by  an  explosion. 

"Phew!"  exclaimed  Kennedy.  "I  didn't  mean  to 
do  that.  I  knew  the  thing  was  loaded,  but  I  had  no 
idea  the  hair-spring  ring  at  the  end  was  so  delicate 
as  to  shoot  it  off  at  a  touch.  It's  one  of  those  aris- 
tocratic little  Apache  pistols  that  one  can  carry  in 
his  vest  pocket  and  hide  in  his  hand.  Say,  but  that 
stung!  And  back  here  is  a  little  box  of  cartridges, 
too." 

We  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement  at  the 
chance  find.  Apparently  the  vandal  had  planned  a 
series  of  visits. 

"Now,  let  me  see,"  resumed  Kennedy.  "I  suppose 
our  very  human  but  none  the  less  mysterious  intruder 
expected  to  use  these  again.  Well,  let  him  try.  I'll 
put  them  back  here  for  the  present.  I  want  to  watch 
in  the  art-gallery  to-night." 

I  could  not  help  wondering  whether,  after  all,  it 
might  not  be  an  inside  job  and  the  fixing  of  the  win- 
dow merely  a  blind.  Or  was  the  vandal  fascinated 
by  the  subtle  influence  of  mysticism  that  so  often 
seems  to  emanate  from  objects  that  have  come  down 
from  the  remote  ages  of  the  world?  I  could  not  help 
asking  myself  whether  the  story  that  Miss  White  had 
told  was  absolutely  true.  Had  there  been  anything 
more  than  superstition  in  the  girl's  evident  fright? 
She  had  seen  something,  I  felt  sure,  for  it  was  certain 
she  was  very  much  disturbed.  But  what  was  it  she 
had  really  seen?  So  far  all  that  Kennedy  had  found 
had  proved  that  the  reincarnation  of  the  priestess  Ka 


The  Green  Curse  113 

had  been  very  material.  Perhaps  the  "reincarna- 
tion" had  got  in  in  the  daytime  and  had  spent  the 
hours  until  night  in  the  mummy-case.  It  might  well 
have  been  chosen  as  the  safest  and  least  suspicious 
hiding-place. 

Kennedy  evidently  had  some  ideas  and  plans,  for 
no  sooner  had  he  completed  arrangements  with  Dr. 
Lith  so  that  we  could  get  into  the  museum  that  night 
to  watch,  than  he  excused  himself.  Scarcely  around 
the  corner  on  the  next  business  street  he  hurried  into 
a  telephone  booth. 

"I  called  up  First  Deputy  O'Connor,"  he  explained 
as  he  left  the  booth  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later.  "You 
know  it  is  the  duty  of  two  of  O'Connor's  men  to  visit 
all  the  pawn-shops  of  the  city  at  least  once  a  week, 
looking  over  recent  pledges  and  comparing  them  with 
descriptions  of  stolen  articles.  I  gave  him  a  list  from 
that  catalogue  of  Dr.  Lith's  and  I  think  that  if  any 
of  the  emeralds,  for  instance,  have  been  pawned  his 
men  will  be  on  the  alert  and  wTill  find  it  out." 

We  had  a  leisurely  dinner  at  a  near-by  hotel,  during 
most  of  which  time  Kennedy  gazed  vacantly  at  his 
food.  Only  once  did  he  mention  the  case,  and  that 
was  almost  as  if  he  were  thinking  aloud. 

"Nowadays,"  he  remarked,  "criminals  are  excep- 
tionally well  informed.  They  used  to  steal  only 
money  and  jewels;  to-day  it  is  famous  pictures  and 
antiques  also.  They  know  something  about  the  value 
of  antique  bronze  and  marble.  In  fact,  the  spread  of 
a  taste  for  art  has  taught  the  enterprising  burglar 
that  such  things  are  worth  money,  and  he,  in  turn, 
has  educated  up  the  receivers  of  stolen  goods  to  pay 


114  The  Dream  Doctor 

a  reasonable  percentage  of  the  value  of  his  artistic 
plunder.  The  success  of  the  European  art  thief  is 
enlightening  the  American  thief.  That's  why  I  think 
we'll  find  some  of  this  stuff  in  the  hands  of  the  pro- 
fessional fences." 

It  was  still  early  in  the  evening  when  we  returned 
to  the  museum  and  let  ourselves  in  with  the  key  that 
Dr.  Lith  had  loaned  Kennedy.  He  had  been  anxious 
to  join  us  in  the  watch,  but  Craig  had  diplomatically 
declined,  a  circumstance  that  puzzled  me  and  set  me 
thinking  that  perhaps  he  suspected  the  curator  him- 
self. 

We  posted  ourselves  in  an  angle  where  we  could 
not  possibly  be  seen  even  if  the  full  force  of  the  elec- 
trolier were  switched  on.  Hour  after  hour  we  waited. 
But  nothing  happened.  There  were  strange  and 
weird  noises  in  plenty,  not  calculated  to  reassure  one, 
but  Craig  was  always  ready  with  an  explanation. 

It  was  in  the  forenoon  of  the  day  after  our  long 
and  unfruitful  vigil  in  the  art-gallery  that  Dr.  Lith 
himself  appeared  at  our  apartment  in  a  great  state 
of  perturbation. 

"Miss  White  has  disappeared,"  he  gasped,  in  an- 
swer to  Craig's  hurried  question.  "When  I  opened 
the  museum,  she  was  not  there  as  she  is  usually.  In- 
stead, I  found  this  note." 

He  laid  the  following  hastily  written  message  on 
the  table: 

Do  not  try  to  follow  me.  It  is  the  green  curse  that  has  pur- 
sued me  from  Paris.  I  cannot  escape  it,  but  I  may  prevent  it 
from  affecting  others. 

LUCILLE  WHITR 


The  Green  Curse  115 

That  was  all.  We  looked  at  each  other  at  a  loss  to 
understand  the  enigmatic  wording — "the  green 
curse." 

"I  rather  expected  something  of  the  sort,"  observed 
Kennedy.  "By  the  way,  the  shoenails  were  French, 
as  I  surmised.  They  show  the  marks  of  French  heels. 
It  was  Miss  White  herself  who  hid  in  the  mummy- 
case." 

"Impossible,"  exclaimed  Dr.  Lith  incredulously. 
As  for  myself,  I  had  learned  that  it  was  of  no  use  be- 
ing incredulous  with  Kennedy. 

A  moment  later  the  door  opened,  and  one  of  O'Con- 
nor's men  came  in  bursting  with  news.  Some  of  the 
emeralds  had  been  discovered  in  a  Third  Avenue 
pawn-shop.  O'Connor,  mindful  of  the  historic  fate 
of  the  Mexican  Madonna  and  the  stolen  statue  of  the 
Egyptian  goddess  Neith,  had  instituted  a  thorough 
search  with  the  result  that  at  least  part  of  the  pilfered 
jewels  had  been  located.  There  was  only  one  clue  to 
the  thief,  but  it  looked  promising.  The  pawnbroker 
described  him  as  "a  crazy  Frenchman  of  an  artist," 
tall,  with  a  pointed  black  beard.  In  pawning  the 
jewels  he  had  given  the  name  of  Edouard  Delaverde, 
and  the  city  detectives  were  making  a  canvass  of  the 
better  known  studios  in  hope  of  tracing  him. 

Kennedy,  Dr.  Lith  and  myself  walked  around  to 
the  boarding-house  where  Miss  White  lived.  There 
was  nothing  about  it,  from  the  landlady  to  the  gossip, 
to  distinguish  it  from  scores  of  other  places  of  the  bet- 
ter sort.  We  had  no  trouble  in  finding  out  that  Miss 
White  had  not  returned  home  at  all  the  night  before. 
The  landlady  seemed  to  look  on  her  as  a  woman  of 


116  The  Dream  Doctor 

mystery,  and  confided  to  us  that  it  was  an  open  se- 
cret that  she  was  not  an  American  at  all,  but  a  French 
girl  whose  name,  she  believed,  was  really  Lucille  Le- 
blanc — which,  after  all,  was  White.  Kennedy  made 
no  comment,  but  I  wavered  between  the  conclusions 
that  she  had  been  the  victim  of  foul  play  and  that  she 
might  be  the  criminal  herself,  or  at  least  a  member  of 
a  band  of  criminals. 

No  trace  of  her  could  be  found  through  the  usual 
agencies  for  locating  missing  persons.  It  was  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon,  however,  when  word  came  to 
us  that  one  of  the  city  detectives  had  apparently  lo- 
cated the  studio  of  Delaverde.  It  was  coupled  with 
the  interesting  information  that  the  day  before  a 
woman  roughly  answering  the  description  of  Miss 
White  had  been  seen  there.  Delaverde  himself  was 
gone. 

The  building  to  wrhich  the  detective  took  us  was 
down-town  in  a  residence  section  which  had  remained 
as  a  sort  of  little  eddy  to  one  side  of  the  current  of 
business  that  had  swept  everything  before  it  up-town. 
It  was  an  old  building  and  large,  and  was  entirely 
given  over  to  studios  of  artists. 

Into  one  of  the  cheapest  of  the  suites  we  were  di- 
rected. It  was  almost  bare  of  furniture  and  in  a  pe- 
culiarly shiftless  state  of  disorder.  A  half-finished 
picture  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  several 
completed  ones  were  leaning  against  the  wall.  They 
were  of  the  wildest  character  imaginable.  Even  the 
conceptions  of  the  futurists  looked  tame  in  compari- 
son. 

Kennedy  at  once  began  rummaging  and  exploring. 


The  Green  Curse  117 

In  a  corner  of  a  cupboard  near  the  door  he  disclosed 
a  row  of  dark-colored  bottles.  One  was  filled  half- 
way with  an  emerald-green  liquid. 

He  held  it  up  to  the  light  and  read  the  label,  "Ab- 
sinthe." 

"Ah,"  he  exclaimed  with  evident  interest,  looking 
first  at  the  bottle  and  then  at  the  wild,  formless  pic- 
tures. "Our  crazy  Frenchman  was  an  absintheur. 
I  thought  the  pictures  were  rather  the  product  of  a 
disordered  mind  than  of  genius." 

He  replaced  the  bottle,  adding :  "It  is  only  recently 
that  our  own  government  placed  a  ban  on  the  impor- 
tation of  that  stuff  as  a  result  of  the  decision  of  the 
Department  of  Agriculture  that  it  was  dangerous  to 
health  and  conflicted  with  the  pure  food  law.  In 
France  they  call  it  the  'scourge,'  the  'plague/  the  'en- 
emy,' the  'queen  of  poisons.'  Compared  with  other 
alcoholic  beverages  it  has  the  greatest  toxicity  of  all. 
There  are  laws  against  the  stuff  in  France,  Switzer- 
land, and  Belgium.  It  isn't  the  alcohol  alone,  al- 
though there  is  from  fifty  to  eighty  per  cent,  in  it, 
that  makes  it  so  deadly.  It  is  the  absinthe,  the  oil  of 
wormwood,  whose  bitterness  has  passed  into  a  prov- 
erb. The  active  principle  absinthin  is  a  narcotic  poi- 
son. The  stuff  creates  a  habit  most  insidious  and  cRf- 
ficult  to  break,  a  longing  more  exacting  than  hunger. 
It  is  almost  as  fatal  as  cocaine  in  its  blasting  effect* 
on  mind  and  body. 

"Wormwood,"  he  pursued,  still  rummaging  about, 
"has  a  special  affinity  for  the  brain-cells  and  the  nerv- 
ous system  in  general.  It  produces  a  special  afflic' 
tion  of  the  mind,  which  might  be  called  absinthism. 


118  The  Dream  Doctor 

Loss  of  will  follows  its  use,  brutishness,  softening  of 
the  brain.  It  gives  rise  to  the  wildest  hallucinations. 
Perhaps  that  was  why  our  absintheur  chose  first  to 
destroy  or  steal  all  things  green,  as  if  there  were  some 
merit  in  the  colour,  when  he  might  have  made  away 
with  so  many  more  valuable  things.  Absintheurs 
have  been  known  to  perform  some  of  the  most  intri- 
cate manoeuvres,  requiring  great  skill  and  the  use  of 
delicate  tools.  They  are  given  to  disappearing,  and 
have  no  memory  of  their  actions  afterward." 

On  an  ink-spattered  desk  lay  some  books,  including 
Lombroso's  "Degenerate  Man"  and  "Criminal  Wom- 
an." Kennedy  glanced  at  them,  then  at  a  crumpled 
manuscript  that  was  stuck  into  a  pigeonhole.  It  was 
written  in  a  trembling,  cramped,  foreign  hand, 
evidently  part  of  a  book,  or  an  article. 

"Oh,  the  wickedness  of  wealth !"  it  began.  "While 
millions  of  the  poor  toilers  slave  and  starve  and 
shiver,  the  slave-drivers  of  to-day,  like  the  slave-driv- 
ers of  ancient  Egypt,  spend  the  money  wrung  from 
the  blood  of  the  people  in  useless  and  worthless  toys 
of  art  while  the  people  have  no  bread,  in  old  books 
while  the  people  have  no  homes,  in  jewels  while  the 
people  have  no  clothes.  Thousands  are  spent  on  dead 
artists,  but  a  dollar  is  grudged  to  a  living  genius. 
Down  with  such  art!  I  dedicate  my  life  to  righ^ng 
the  wrongs  of  the  proletariat.  Vive  Vanarchism!" 

The  thing  was  becoming  more  serious.  But  by  far 
the  most  serious  discovery  in  the  now  deserted  studio 
was  a  number  of  large  glass  tubes  in  a  corner,  some 
broken,  others  not  yet  used  and  standing  in  rows  as 
if  waiting  to  be  filled.  A  bottle  labelled  "Sulphuric 


The  Green  Curse  119 

Acid"  stood  at  one  end  of  a  shelf,  while  at  the  other 
was  a  huge  jar  full  of  black  grains,  next  a  bottle  of 
chlorate  of  potash.  Kennedy  took  a  few  of  the  black 
grains  and  placed  them  on  a  metal  ash-tray.  He 
lighted  a  match.  There  was  a  puff  and  a  little  cloud 
of  smoke. 

"Ah,"  he  exclaimed,  "black  gunpowder.  Our  ab- 
sintheur  was  a  bomb-maker,  an  expert  perhaps.  Let 
me  see.  I  imagine  he  was  making  an  explosive  bomb, 
ingeniously  contrived  of  five  glass  tubes.  The  centre 
one,  I  venture,  contained  sulphuric  acid  and  chlorate 
of  potash  separated  by  a  close-packed  wad  of  cotton 
wool.  Then  the  two  tubes  on  each  side  probably  con- 
tained the  powder,  and  perhaps  the  outside  tubes  were 
filled  with  spirits  of  turpentine.  When  it  is  placed 
in  position,  it  is  so  arranged  that  the  acid  in  the  cen- 
ter tube  is  uppermost  and  will  thus  gradually  soak 
through  the  cotton  wool  and  cause  great  heat  and  an 
explosion  by  contact  with  the  potash.  That  would 
ignite  the  powder  in  the  next  tubes,  and  that  would 
scatter  the  blazing  turpentine,  causing  a  terrific  ex- 
plosion and  a  widespread  fire.  With  an  imperative 
idea  of  vengeance,  such  as  that  manuscript  discloses, 
either  for  his  own  wrongs  as  an  artist  or  for  the  fan- 
cied wrongs  of  the  people,  what  may  this  absintheur 
not  be  planning  now?  He  has  disappeared,  but  per- 
haps he  may  be  more  dangerous  if  found  than  if  lost." 


VIII 

The  Mummy  Case 

fTTHE  horrible  thought  occurred  to  me  that  per- 
JL  haps  he  was  not  alone.  I  had  seen  Spencer's 
infatuation  with  his  attractive  librarian.  The  jan- 
itor of  the  studio-building  was  positive  that  a  woman 
answering  her  description  had  been  a  visitor  at  the 
studio.  Would  she  be  used  to  get  at  the  millionaire 
and  his  treasures?  Was  she  herself  part  of  the  plot 
to  victimise,  perhaps  kill,  him?  The  woman  had  been 
much  of  an  enigma  to  me  at  first.  She  was  more  so 
now.  It  was  barely  possible  that  she,  too,  was  an  ab- 
sintheur,  who  had  shaken  off  the  curse  for  a  time  only 
to  relapse  into  it  again. 

If  there  were  any  thoughts  like  these  passing 
through  Kennedy's  mind  he  did  not  show  it,  at  least 
not  in  the  shape  of  hesitating  in  the  course  he  had 
evidently  mapped  out  to  follow.  He  said  little,  but 
hurried  off  from  the  studio  in  a  cab  up-town  again 
to  the  laboratory.  A  few  minutes  later  we  were 
speeding  down  to  the  museum. 

There  was  not  much  time  for  Craig  to  work  if  he 
hoped  to  be  ready  for  anything  that  might  happen 
that  night.  He  began  by  winding  coil  after  coil  of 
copper  wire  about  the  storeroom  in  the  basement  of 
the  museum.  It  was  not  a  very  difficult  matter  to 
conceal  it,  so  crowded  was  the  room,  or  to  lead  the 


The  Mummy  Case  121 

ends  out  through  a  window  at  the  opposite  side  from 
that  where  the  window  had  been  broken  open. 

Up-stairs  in  the  art-gallery  he  next  installed  sev- 
eral boxes  such  as  those  which  I  had  seen  him  experi- 
menting with  during  his  tests  of  selenium  on  the  aft- 
ernoon when  Mr.  Spencer  had  first  called  on  us. 
They  were  camera-like  boxes,  about  ten  inches  long, 
three  inches  or  so  wide,  and  four  inches  deep. 

One  end  was  open,  or  at  least  looked  as  though 
the  end  had  been  shoved  several  inches  into  the  in- 
terior of  the  box.  I  looked  into  one  of  the  boxes  and 
saw  a  slit  in  the  wall  that  had  been  shoved  in.  Ken- 
nedy was  busy  adjusting  the  apparatus,  and  paused 
only  to  remark  that  the  boxes  contained  two  sensitive 
selenium  surfaces  balanced  against  two  carbon  re- 
sistances. There  was  also  in  the  box  a  clockwork 
mechanism  which  Craig  wound  up  and  set  ticking 
ever  so  softly.  Then  he  moved  a  rod  that  seemed  to 
cover  the  slit,  until  the  apparatus  was  adjusted  to  his 
satisfaction,  a  delicate  operation,  judging  by  the  care 
he  took.  Several  of  these  boxes  were  installed,  and 
by  that  time  it  was  quite  late. 

Wires  from  the  apparatus  in  the  art-gallery  also 
led  outside,  and  these  as  well  as  the  wires  from  the 
coils  down  in  the  basement  he  led  across  the  bit  of 
garden  back  of  the  Spencer  house  and  up  to  a  room 
on  the  top  floor.  In  the  upper  room  he  attached  the 
wires  from  the  storeroom  to  what  looked  like  a  piece 
of  crystal  and  a  telephone  receiver.  Those  from  the 
art-gallery  terminated  in  something  very  much  like 
the  apparatus  which  a  wireless  operator  wears  over 
his  head. 


122  The  Dream  Doctor 

Aknong  other  things  which  Craig  had  brought  down 
from  the  laboratory  was  a  package  which  he  had  not 
yet  unwrapped.  He  placed  it  near  the  window,  still 
wrapped.  It  was  quite  large,  and  must  have  weighed 
fifteen  or  twenty  pounds.  That  done,  he  produced  a 
tape-measure  and  began,  as  if  he  were  a  surveyor > 
to  measure  various  distances  and  apparently  to  cal- 
culate the  angles  and  distances  from  the  window-sill 
of  the  Spencer  house  to  the  skylight,  which  was  the 
exact  centre  of  the  museum.  The  straight  distance, 
if  I  recall  correctly,  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  four 
hundred  feet. 

These  preparations  completed,  there  was  nothing 
left  to  do  but  to  wait  for  something  to  happen. 
Spencer  had  declined  to  get  alarmed  about  our  fears 
for  his  own  safety,  and  only  with  difficulty  had  we 
been  able  to  dissuade  him  from  moving  heaven  and 
earth  to  find  Miss  White,  a  proceeding  which  must 
certainly  have  disarranged  Kennedy's  carefully  laid 
plans.  So  interested  was  he  that  he  postponed  one 
of  the  most  important  business  conferences  of  the 
year,  growing  out  of  the  anti-trust  suits,  in  order  to 
be  present  with  Dr.  Lith  and  ourselves  in  the  little 
upper  back  room. 

It  was  quite  late  when  Kennedy  completed  his 
hasty  arrangements,  yet  as  the  night  advanced  we 
grew  more  and  more  impatient  for  something  to  hap- 
pen. Craig  was  apparently  even  more  anxious  than 
he  had  been  the  night  before,  when  we  watched  in  the 
art-gallery  itself.  Spencer  was  nervously  smoking, 
lighting  one  cigar  furiously  from  another  until  the 
air  was  almost  blue. 


The  Mummy  Case  123 

Scarcely  a  word  was  spoken  as  hour  after  hour 
Craig  sat  with  the  receiver  to  his  ear,  connected  with 
the  coils  down  in  the  storeroom.  "Yon  might  call 
this  an  electric  detective,"  he  had  explained  to  Spen- 
cer. "For  example,  if  you  suspected  that  anything 
out  of  the  way  was  going  on  in  a  room  anywhere  this 
would  report  much  to  you  even  if  you  were  miles 
away.  It  is  the  discovery  of  a  student  of  Thorne 
Baker,  the  English  electrical  expert.  He  was  experi- 
menting with  high-frequency  electric  currents,  inves- 
tigating the  nature  of  the  discharges  used  for  elec- 
trifying certain  things.  Quite  by  accident  he  found 
that  when  the  room  on  which  he  was  experimenting 
was  occupied  by  some  person  his  measuring-instru- 
ments indicated  that  fact.  He  tested  the  degree  of 
variation  by  passing  the  current  first  through  the 
room  and  then  through  a  sensitive  crystal  to  a  deli- 
cate telephone  receiver.  There  was  a  distinct  change 
in  the  buzzing  sound  heard  through  the  telephone 
when  the  room  was  occupied  or  unoccupied.  What 
I  have  done  is  to  wind  single  loops  of  plain  wire  on 
each  side  of  that  room  down  there,  as  well  as  to  wind 
around  the  room  a  few  turns  of  concealed  copper  wire. 
These  collectors  are  fitted  to  a  crystal,  of  car- 
borundum and  a  telephone  receiver." 

We  had  each  tried  the  thing  and  could  hear  a  dis- 
tinct buzzing  in  the  receiver. 

"The  presence  of  a  man  or  woman  in  that  room 
would  be  evident  to  a  person  listening  miles  away," 
he  went  on.  "A  high-frequency  current  is  constantly 
passing  through  that  storeroom.  That  is  what  causes 
that  normal  buzzing." 


124  The  Dream  Doctor 

It  was  verging  on  midnight  when  Kennedy  sud- 
denly cried:  "Here,  Walter,  take  this  receiver.  You 
remember  how  the  buzzing  sounded.  Listen.  Tell 
me  if  you,  too,  can  detect  the  change." 

I  clapped  the  receiver  quickly  to  my  ear.  Indeed 
I  could  tell  the  difference.  In  place  of  the  loud  buzz- 
ing there  was  only  a  mild  sound.  It  was  slower  and 
lower. 

"That  means,"  he  said  excitedly,  "that  some  one  has 
entered  that  pitch-dark  storeroom  by  the  broken  win- 
dow. Let  me  take  the  receiver  back  again.  Ah,  the 
buzzing  is  coming  back.  He  is  leaving  the  room.  I 
suppose  he  has  found  the  electric  light  cane  and  the 
pistol  where  he  left  them.  Now,  Walter,  since  you 
have  become  accustomed  to  this  thing  take  it  and 
tell  me  what  you  hear." 

Craig  had  already  seized  the  other  apparatus  con- 
nected with  the  art-gallery  and  had  the  wireless  re- 
ceiver over  his  head.  He  was  listening  with  rapt 
attention,  talking  while  he  waited. 

"This  is  an  apparatus,"  he  was  saying,  "that  was 
devised  by  Dr.  Fournier  d'Albe,  lecturer  on  physics 
at  Birmingham  University,  to  aid  the  blind.  It  is 
known  as  the  optophone.  What  I  am  literally  doing 
now  is  to  hear  light.  The  optophone  translates  light 
into  sound  by  means  of  that  wonderful  little  element, 
selenium,  which  in  darkness  is  a  poor  conductor  of 
electricity,  but  in  light  is  a  good  conductor.  This 
property  is  used  in  the  optophone  in  transmitting  an 
electric  current  which  is  interrupted  by  a  special 
clockwork  interrupter.  It  makes  light  and  darkness 
audible  in  the  telephone.  This  thing  over  my  head 


The  Mummy  Case  125 

is  like  a  wireless  telephone  receiver,  capable  of  de- 
tecting a  current  of  even  a  quarter  of  a  microam- 
pere." 

We  were  all  waiting  expectantly  for  Craig  to  speak. 
Evidently  the  intruder  was  now  mounting  the  stairs 
to  the  art-gallery. 

"Actually  I  can  hear  the  light  of  the  stars  shining 
in  through  that  wonderful  plate  glass  skylight  of 
yours,  Mr.  Spencer,"  he  went  on.  "A  few  moments 
ago  when  the  moon  shone  through  I  could  hear  it, 
like  the  rumble  of  a  passing  cart.  I  knew  it  was  the 
moon  both  because  I  could  see  that  it  must  be  shining 
in  and  because  I  recognised  the  sound.  The  sun 
would  thunder  like  a  passing  express-train  if  it  were 
daytime  now.  I  can  distinguish  a  shadow  passing 
between  the  optophone  and  the  light.  A  hand  moved 
across  in  front  of  it  would  give  a  purring  sound,  and 
a  glimpse  out  of  a  window  in  daylight  would  sound 
like  a  cinematograph  reeling  off  a  film. 

"Ah,  there  he  is."  Craig  was  listening  with  intense 
excitement  now.  "Our  intruder  has  entered  the  art- 
gallery.  He  is  flashing  his  electric  light  cane  about 
at  various  objects,  reconnoitring.  No  doubt  if  I  were 
expert  enough  and  had  had  time  to  study  it,  I  could 
tell  you  by  the  sound  just  what  he  is  looking  at." 

"Craig,"  I  interrupted,  this  time  very  excited  my- 
self, "the  buzzing  from  the  high-frequency  current  is 
getting  lower  and  lower." 

"By  George,  then,  there  is  another  of  them,"  he  re- 
plied. "I'm  not  surprised.  Keep  a  sharp  watch. 
Tell  me  the  moment  the  buzzing  increases  again." 

Spencer  could  scarcely  control  his  impatience.     It 


126  The  Dream  Doctor 

had  been  a  long  time  since  he  had  been  a  mere  spec- 
tator, and  he  did  not  seem  to  relish  being  held  in 
check  by  anybody. 

"Now  that  you  are  sure  the  vandal  is  there,"  he 
cut  in,  his  cigar  out  in  his  excitement,  "can't  we  make 
a  dash  over  there  and  get  him  before  he  has  a  chance 
to  do  any  more  damage?  He  might  be  destroying 
thousands  of  dollars'  worth  of  stuff  while  we  are  wait- 
ing here." 

"And  he  could  destroy  the  whole  collection,  build- 
ing and  all,  including  ourselves  into  the  bargain,  if 
he  heard  so  much  as  a  whisper  from  us,"  added  Ken- 
nedy firmly. 

"That  second  person  has  left  the  storeroom,  Craig," 
I  put  in.  "The  buzzing  has  returned  again  full 
force." 

Kennedy  tore  the  wireless  receiver  from  his  ear. 
"Here,  Walter,  never  mind  about  that  electric  detec- 
tive any  more,  then.  Take  the  optophone.  Describe 
minutely  to  me  just  exactly  what  you  hear." 

He  had  taken  from  his  pocket  a  small  metal  ball.  I 
seized  the  receiver  from  him  and  fitted  it  to  my  ear. 
It  took  me  several  instants  to  accustom  my  ears  to 
the  new  sounds,  but  they  were  plain  enough,  and  I 
shouted  my  impressions  of  their  variations.  Kennedy 
was  busy  at  the  window  over  the  heavy  package,  from 
which  he  had  torn  the  wrapping.  His  back  was 
toward  us,  and  we  could  not  see  what  he  was  doing. 

A  terrific  din  sounded  in  my  ears,  almost  splitting 
my  ear-drums.  It  was  as  though  I  had  been  suddenly 
hurled  into  a  magnified  cave  of  the  winds  and  a  cat- 
aract mightier  than  Niagara  was  thundering  at  me. 


The  Mummy  Case  127 

It  was  so  painful  that  I  cried  out  in  surprise  and  in- 
voluntarily dropped  the  receiver  to  the  floor. 

"It  was  the  switching  on  of  the  full  glare  of  the 
electric  lights  in  the  art-gallery,"  Craig  shouted. 
"The  other  person  must  have  got  up  to  tha  room 
quicker  than  I  expected.  Here  goes." 

A  loud  explosion  took  place,  apparently  on  the  very 
window-sill  of  our  room.  Almost  at  the  same  instant 
there  was  a  crash  of  glass  from  the  museum. 

We  sprang  to  the  window,  I  expecting  to  see  Ken- 
nedy injured,  Spencer  expecting  to  see  his  costly 
museum  a  mass  of  smoking  ruins.  Instead  we  saw, 
nothing  of  the  sort.  On  the  window-ledge  was  a  pe- 
culiar little  instrument  that  looked  like  a  miniature 
field-gun  with  an  elaborate  system  of  springs  and 
levers  to  break  the  recoil. 

Craig  had  turned  from  it  so  suddenly  that  he  actu- 
ally ran  full  tilt  into  us.  "Come  on,"  he  cried  breath- 
lessly, bolting  from  the  room,  and  seizing  Dr.  Lith 
by  the  arm  as  he  did  so.  "Dr.  Lith,  the  keys  to  the 
museum,  quick !  We  must  get  there  before  the  fumes 
clear  away." 

He  was  taking  the  stairs  two  at  a  time,  dragging 
the  dignified  curator  with  him. 

In  fewer  seconds  than  I  can  tell  it  we  were  in  the 
museum  and  mounting  the  broad  staircase  to  the  art- 
gallery.  An  overpowering  gas  seemed  to  permeate 
everything. 

"Stand  back  a  moment,"  cautioned  Kennedy  as  we 
neared  the  door.  "I  have  just  shot  in  here  one  of 
those  asphyxiating  bombs  which  the  Paris  police  in- 
vented to  war  against  the  Apaches  and  the  motor-car 


128  The  Dream  Doctor 

bandits.  Open  all  the  windows  back  here  and  let  the 
air  clear.  Walter,  breathe  as  little  of  it  as  you  can 
— but — come  here — do  you  see? — over  there,  near  the 
other  door — a  figure  lying  on  the  floor?  Make  a  dash 
in  after  me  and  carry  it  out.  There  is  just  one  thing 
more.  If  I  am  not  back  in  a  minute  come  in  and 
try  to  get  me." 

He  had  already  preceded  me  into  the  stifling  fumes. 
With  a  last  long  breath  of  fresh  air  I  plunged  in 
after  him,  scarcely  knowing  what  would  happen  to 
me.  I  saw  the  figure  on  the  floor,  seized  it,  and  backed 
out  of  the  room  as  fast  as  I  could. 

Dizzy  and  giddy  from  the  fumes  I  had  been  forced 
to  inhale,  I  managed  to  drag  the  form  to  the  nearest 
window.  It  was  Lucille  White. 

An  instant  later  I  felt  myself  unceremoniously 
pushed  aside.  Spencer  had  forgotten  all  about  the 
millions  of  dollars'  worth  of  curios,  all  about  the  sus- 
picions that  had  been  entertained  against  her,  and 
had  taken  the  half-conscious  burden  from  me. 

"This  is  the  second  time  I  have  found  you  here, 
Edouard,"  she  was  muttering  in  her  half-delirium,  still 
struggling.  "The  first  time — that  night  I  hid  in  the 
mummy-case,  you  fled  when  I  called  for  help.  I  have 
followed  you  every  moment  since  last  night  to  prevent 
this.  Edouard,  don't,  don't!  Eemember  I  was — I 
am  your  wife.  Listen  to  me.  Oh,  it  is  the  absinthe 
that  has  spoiled  your  art  and  made  it  worthless,  not 
the  critics.  It  is  not  Mr.  Spencer  who  has  enticed 
me  away,  but  you  who  drove  me  away,  first  from 
Paris,  and  now  from  New  York.  He  has  been  only — 
No!  No! — "  she  was  shrieking  now,  her  eyes  wide 


The  Mummy  Case  129 

open  as  she  realised  it  was  Spencer  himself  she  saw 
leaning  over  her.  With  a  great  effort  she  seemed  to 
rouse  herself.  "Don't  stay.  Kun — run.  Leave  me. 
He  has  a  bomb  that  may  go  off  at  any  moment.  Oh — 
oh — it  is  the  curse  of  absinthe  that  pursues  me.  Will 
you  not  go?  Vite!  ~Vite!" 

She  had  almost  fainted  and  was  lapsing  into 
French,  laughing  and  crying  alternately,  telling  him 
to  go,  yet  clinging  to  him. 

Spencer  paid  no  attention  to  what  she  had  said  of 
the  bomb.  But  I  did.  The  minute  was  up,  and  Ken- 
nedy was  in  there  yet.  I  turned  to  rush  in  again  to 
warn  him  at  any  peril. 

Just  then  a  half-conscious  form  staggered  against 
me.  It  was  Craig  himself.  He  was  holding  the  in- 
fernal machine  of  the  five  glass  tubes  that  might  at 
any  instant  blow  us  into  eternity. 

Overcome  himself,  he  stumbled.  The  sinking  sen- 
sation in  my  heart  I  can  never  describe.  It  was  just 
a  second  that  I  waited  for  the  terrific  explosion  that 
was  to  end  it  all  for  us,  one  long  interminable  second. 

But  it  did  not  come. 

Limp  as  I  was  with  the  shock,  I  dropped  down  be- 
side him  and  bent  over. 

"A  glass  of  water,  Walter,"  he  murmured,  "and 
fan  me  a  bit.  I  didn't  dare  trust  myself  to  carry  the 
thing  complete,  so  I  emptied  the  acid  into  the  sar- 
cophagus. I  guess  I  must  have  stayed  in  there  too 
long.  But  we  are  safe.  See  if  you  can  drag  out 
Delaverde.  He  is  in  there  by  the  mummy-case.'' 

Spencer  was  still  holding  Lucille,  although  she  was 
much  better-  in  the  fresh  air  of  the  hall.  "I  under- 


130  The  Dream  Doctor 

stand,"  lie  was  muttering.  "You  have  been  following 
this  fiend  of  a  husband  of  yours  to  protect  the  museum 
and  myself  from  him.  Lucille,  Lucille — look  at  me. 
You  are  mine,  not  his,  whether  he  is  dead  or  alive. 
I  will  free  you  from  him,  from  the  curse  of  the  absinthe 
that  has  pursued  you." 

The  fumes  had  cleared  a  great  deal  by  this  time. 
In  the  centre  of  the  art-gallery  we  found  a  man,  a  tall, 
black-bearded  Frenchman,  erazy  indeed  from  the 
curse  of  the  green  absinthe  that  had  ruined  him.  He 
was  scarcely  breathing  from  a  deadly  wound  in  his 
chest.  The  hair-spring  ring  of  the  Apache  pistol  had 
exploded  the  cartridge  as  he  fell. 

Spencer  did  not  even  look  at  him,  as  he  carried  his 
own  burden  down  to  the  little  office  of  Dr.  Lith. 

"When  a  rich  man  marries  a  girl  who  has  been  earn- 
ing her  own  living,  the  newspapers  always  distort  it," 
he  whispered  aside  to  me  a  few  minutes  later. 
"Jameson,  you're  a  newspaperman — I  depend  on  you 
to  get  the  facts  straight  this  time." 

Outside,  Kennedy  grasped  my  arm. 

'"Tou'll  do  that,  Walter?"  he  asked  persuasively. 
"Spencer  is  a  client  that  one  doesn't  get  every  day. 
Just  drop  into  the  Star  office  and  give  them  the 
straight  story.  I'll  promise  you  I'll  not  take  another 
case  until  you  are  free  again  to  go  on  with  me  in 
it" 

There  was  no  denying  him.  As  briefly  as  I  could 
I  rehearsed  the  main  facts  to  the  managing  editor 
late  that  night.  I  was  too  tired  to  write  it  at  length, 
yet  I  could  not  help  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  as  he  ex- 
claimed, "Great  stuff,  Jameson, — great." 


The  Mummy  Case  131 

"I  know,"  I  replied,  "but  this  six-cylindered  exist- 
ence for  a  week  wears  you  out." 

"My  dear  boy,"  he  persisted,  "if  I  had  turned  some 
one  else  loose  on  that  story,  he'd  have  been  dead.  Go 
to  it— it's  fine." 

It  was  a  bit  of  blarney,  I  knew.  But  somehow  or 
other  I  liked  it.  It  was  just  what  I  needed  to  en- 
courage me,  and  I  hurried  uptown  promising  myself 
a  sound  sleep  at  any  rate. 

"Very  good,"  remarked  Kennedy  the  next  morn- 
ing, poking  his  head  in  at  my  door  and  holding  up  a 
copy  of  the  Star  into  which  a  very  accurate  brief  ac- 
count of  the  affair  had  been  dropped  at  the  last  mo- 
ment. "I'm  going  over  to  the  laboratory.  See  you 
there  as  soon  as  you  can  get  over." 

"Craig,"  I  remarked  an  hour  or  so  later  as  I  saun- 
tered in  on  him,  hard  at  work,  "I  don't  see  how  you 
stand  this  feverish  activity." 

"Stand  it?"  he  repeated,  holding  up  a  beaker  to  the 
light  to  watch  a  reaction.  "It's  my  very  life.  Stand 
it?  Why,  man,  if  you  want  me  to  pass  away — stop 
it.  As  long  as  it  lasts,  I  shall  be  all  right.  Let  it 
quit  and  I'll — I'll  go  back  to  research  work,"  he 
laughed. 

Evidently  he  had  been  waiting  for  me,  for  as  he 
talked,  he  laid  aside  the  materials  with  which  he  had 
been  working  and  was  preparing  to  go  out. 

"Then,  too,"  he  went  on,  "I  like  to  be  with  people 
like  Spencer  and  Brixton.  For  example,  while  I  was 
waiting  here  for  you,  there  came  a  call  from  Emery 
Pitts." 

"Emery  Pitts?"  I  echoed.     "What  does  he  want?" 


132  The  Dream  Doctor 

"The  best  way  to  find  out  is — to  find  out,"  he  an- 
swered simply.  "It's  getting  late  and  I  promised  to 
be  there  directly.  I  think  we'd  better  take  a  taxi." 

A  few  minutes  later  we  were  ushered  into  a  large 
Fifth  Avenue  mansion  and  were  listening  to  a  story 
which  interested  even  Kennedy. 

"Not  even  a  blood  spot  has  been  disturbed  in  the 
kitchen.  Nothing  has  been  altered  since  the  discov- 
ery of  the  murdered  chef,  except  that  his  body  has 
been  moved  into  the  next  room." 

Emery  Pitts,  one  of  the  "thousand  millionaires  of 
steel,"  overwrought  as  he  was  by  a  murder  in  his  own 
household,  sank  back  in  his  easy-chair,  exhausted. 

Pitts  was  not  an  old  man;  indeed,  in  years  he  was 
in  the  prime  of  life.  Yet  by  his  looks  he  might  almost 
have  been  double  his  age,  the  more  so  in  contrast  with 
Minna  Pitts,  his  young  and  very  pretty  wife,  who 
stood  near  him  in  the  quaint  breakfast-room  and  so- 
licitously moved  a  pillow  back  of  his  head. 

Kennedy  and  I  looked  on  in  amazement.  We  knew 
that  he  had  recently  retired  from  active  business,  giv- 
ing as  a  reason  his  failing  health.  But  neither  of  us 
had  thought,  when  the  hasty  summons  came  early 
that  morning  to  visit  him  immediately  at  his  house, 
that  his  condition  was  as  serious  as  it  now  appeared. 

"In  the  kitchen?"  repeated  Kennedy,  evidently  not 
prepared  for  any  trouble  in  that  part  of  the  house. 

Pitts,  who  had  closed  his  eyes,  now  reopened  them 
slowly  and  I  noticed  how  contracted  were  the  pupils. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  somewhat  wearily,  "my  private 
kitchen  which  I  have  had  fitted  up.  You  know,  I  am 
on  a  diet,  have  been  ever  since  I  offered  the  one  hun- 


The  Mummy  Case  133 

dred  thousand  dollars  for  the  sure  restoration  of 
youth.  I  shall  have  you  taken  out  there  presently." 

He  lapsed  again  into  a  half  dreamy  state,  his  head 
bowed  on  one  hand  resting  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 
The  morning's  mail  still  lay  on  the  table,  some  letters 
open,  as  they  had  been  when  the  discovery  had  been 
announced.  Mrs.  Pitts  was  apparently  much  excited 
and  unnerved  by  the  gruesome  discovery  in  the  house. 

"You  have  no  idea  who  the  murderer  might  be?" 
asked  Kennedy,  addressing  Pitts,  but  glancing  keenly 
at  his  wife. 

"No,"  replied  Pitts,  "if  I  had  I  should  have  called 
the  regular  police.  I  wanted  you  to  take  it  up  before 
they  spoiled  any  of  the  clues.  In  the  first  place  we 
do  not  think  it  could  have  been  done  by  any  of  the 
other  servants.  At  least,  Minna  says  that  there  was 
no  quarrel." 

"How  could  any  one  have  got  in  from  the  outside?" 
asked  Craig. 

"There  is  a  back  way,  a  servants'  entrance,  but  it 
is  usually  locked.  Of  course  some  one  might  have  ob- 
tained a  key  to  it." 

Mrs.  Pitts  had  remained  silent  throughout  the  dia- 
logue. I  could  not  help  thinking  that  she  suspected 
something,  perhaps  was  concealing  something.  Yet 
each  of  them  seemed  equally  anxious  to  have  the  ma- 
rauder apprehended,  whoever  he  might  be. 

"My  dear,"  he  said  to  her  at  length,  "will  you  call 
some  one  and  have  them  taken  to  the  kitchen?" 


IX 

The  Elixir  of  Life 

AS  Minna  Pitts  led  us  through  the  large  man- 
sion preparatory  to  turning  us  over  to  a  servant 
she  explained  hastily  that  Mr.  Pitts  had  long  been 
ill  and  was  now  taking  a  new  treatment  under  Dr. 
Thompson  Lord.  No  one  having  answered  her  bell 
in  the  present  state  of  excitement  of  the  house,  she 
stopped  short  at  the  pivoted  door  of  the  kitchen,  with 
a  little  shudder  at  the  tragedy,  and  stood  only  long 
enough  to  relate  to  us  the  story  as  she  had  heard  it 
from  the  valet,  Edward. 

Mr.  Pitts,  it  seemed,  had  wanted  an  early  breakfast 
and  had  sent  Edward  to  order  it.  The  valet  had 
found  the  kitchen  a  veritable  slaughter-house,  with 
the  negro  chef,  Sam,  lying  dead  on  the  floor.  Sam 
had  been  dead,  apparently,  since  the  night  before. 

As  she  hurried  away,  Kennedy  pushed  open  the 
door.  It  was  a  marvellous  place,  that  antiseptic  or 
rather  aseptic  kitchen,  with  its  white  tiling  and 
enamel,  its  huge  ice-box,  and  cooking-utensils  for 
every  purpose,  all  of  the  most  expensive  and  modern 
make. 

There  were  marks  everywhere  of  a  struggle,  and 
by  the  side  of  the  chef,  whose  body  now  lay  in  the  next 
room  awaiting  the  coroner,  lay  a  long  carving-knife 
with  which  he  had  evidently  defended  himself.  On 

134 


The  Elixir  of  Life  135 

its  blade  and  haft  were  huge  coagulated  spots  of 
blood.  The  body  of  Sam  bore  marks  of  his  having 
been  clutched  violently  by  the  throat,  and  in  his  head 
was  a  single,  deep  wound  that  penetrated  the  skull 
in  a  most  peculiar  manner.  It  did  not  seem  possible 
that  a  blow  from  a  knife  could  have  done  it.  It  was 
a  most  unusual  wound  and  not  at  all  the  sort  that 
could  have  been  made  by  a  bullet. 

As  Kennedy  examined  it,  he  remarked,  shaking  his 
head  in  confirmation  of  his  own  opinion,  "That  must 
have  been  done  by  a  Behr  bulletless  gun." 

"A  bulletless  gun?"  I  repeated. 

"Yes,  a  sort  of  pistol  with  a  spring-operated  device 
that  projects  a  sharp  blade  with  great  force.  No  bul- 
let and  no  powder  are  used  in  it.  But  when  it  is 
placed  directly  over  a  vital  point  of  the  skull  so  that 
the  aim  is  unerring,  a  trigger  lets  a  long  knife  shoot 
out  with  tremendous  force,  and  death  is  instantane- 
ous." 

Near  the  door,  leading  to  the  courtyard  that 
opened  on  the  side  street,  were  some  spots  of  blood. 
They  were  so  far  from  the  place  where  the  valet  had 
discovered  the  body  of  the  chef  that  there  could  be 
no  doubt  that  they  were  blood  from  the  murderer 
kimself.  Kennedy's  reasoning  in  the  matter  seemed 
irresistible. 

He  looked  under  the  table  near  the  door,  covered 
with  a  large  light  cloth.  Beneath  the  table  and  be- 
hind the  cloth  he  found  another  blood  spot. 

"How  did  that  land  there?"  he  mused  aloud.  "The 
table-cloth  is  bloodless." 

Craig  appeared  to  think  a  moment.     Then  he  un- 


136  The  Dream  Doctor 

locked  and  opened  the  door.  A  current  of  air  was 
created  and  blew  the  cloth  aside. 

"Clearly,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  drop  of  blood  was 
wafted  under  the  table  as  the  door  was  opened.  The 
chances  are  all  that  it  came  from  a  cut  on  perhaps 
the  hand  or  face  of  the  murderer  himself." 

It  seemed  to  be  entirely  reasonable,  for  the  blood- 
stains about  the  room  were  such  as  to  indicate  that 
he  had  been  badly  cut  by  the  carving-knife. 

"Whoever  attacked  the  chef  must  have  been  deeply 
wounded,"  I  remarked,  picking  up  the  bloody  knife 
and  looking  about  at  the  stains,  comparatively  few 
of  which  could  have  come  from  the  one  deep  fatal 
wound  in  the  head  of  the  victim. 

Kennedy  was  still  engrossed  in  a  study  of  the 
stains,  evidently  considering  that  their  size,  shape, 
and  location  might  throw  some  light  on  what  had 
occurred.  "Walter,"  he  said  finally,  "while  I'm  busy 
here,  I  wish,  you  would  find  that  valet,  Edward.  I 
want  to  talk  to  him." 

I  found  him  at  last,  a  clean-cut  young  fellow  of 
much  above  average  intelligence. 

"There  are  some  things  I  have  not  yet  got  clearly, 
Edward,"  began  Kennedy.  "Now  where  was  the 
body,  exactly,  when  you  opened  the  door?" 

Edward  pointed  out  the  exact  spot,  near  the  side 
of  the  kitchen  toward  the  door  leading  out  to  the 
breakfast  room  and  opposite  the  ice-box. 

"And  the  door  to  the  side  street?"  asked  Kennedy, 
to  all  appearances  very  favorably  impressed  by  the 
young  man. 

"It  was  locked,  sir,"  he  answered  positively. 


The  Elixir  of  Life  137 

Kennedy  was  quite  apparently  considering  the  hon- 
esty and  faithfulness  of  the  servant.  At  last  he 
leaned  over  and  asked  quickly,  "Can  I  trust  you?" 

The  frank,  "Yes,"  of  the  young  fellow  was  convinc- 
ing enough. 

"What  I  want,"  pursued  Kennedy,  "is  to  have  some 
one  inside  this  house  who  can  tell  me  as  much  as  he 
can  see  of  the  visitors,  the  messengers  that  come  here 
this  morning.  It  will  be  an  act  of  loyalty  to  your 
employer,  so  that  you  need  have  no  fear  about  that." 

Edward  bowed,  and  left  us.  While  I  had  been 
seeking  him,  Kennedy  had  telephoned  hastily  to  his 
laboratory  and  had  found  one  of  his  students  there. 
He  had  ordered  him  to  bring  down  an  apparatus 
which  he  described,  and  some  other  material. 

While  we  waited  Kennedy  sent  word  to  Pitts  that 
he  wanted  to  see  him  alone  for  a  few  minutes. 

The  instrument  appeared  to  be  a  rubber  bulb  and 
cuff  with  a  rubber  bag  attached  to  the  inside.  From 
it  ran  a  tube  which  ended  in  another  graduated  glass 
tube  with  a  thin  line  of  mercury  in  it  like  a  ther- 
mometer. 

Craig  adjusted  the  thing  over  the  brachial  artery 
of  Pitts,  just  r^ove  the  elbow. 

"It  may  be  a  little  uncomfortable,  Mr.  Pitts,"  he 
apologised,  "but  it  will  be  for  only  a  few  minutes." 

Pressure  through  the  rubber  bulb  shut  off  the  ar- 
tery so  that  Kennedy  could  no  longer  feel  the  pulse 
at  the  wrist.  As  he  worked,  I  began  to  see  what  he 
was  after.  The  reading  on  the  graded  scale  of  the 
height  of  the  column  of  mercury  indicated,  I  knew, 
blood  pressure.  This  time,  as  he  worked,  I  noted  also 


138  The  Dream  Doctor 

the  flabby  skin  of  Pitts  as  well  as  the  small  and  slug- 
gish pupils  of  his  eyes. 

He  completed  his  test  in  silence  and  excused  him- 
self, although  as  we  went  back  to  the  kitchen  I  was 
burning  with  curiosity. 

"What  was  it?"  I  asked.  "What  did  you  dis- 
cover?" 

"That,"  he  replied,  "was  a  sphygmomanometer, 
something  like  the  sphygmograph  which  we  used  once 
in  another  case.  Normal  blood  pressure  is  125  milli- 
metres. Mr.  Pitts  shows  a  high  pressure,  very  high. 
The  large  life  insurance  companies  are  now  using 
this  instrument.  They  would  tell  you  that  a  high 
pressure  like  that  indicates  apoplexy.  Mr.  Pitts, 
young  as  he  really  is,  is  actually  old.  For,  you  know, 
the  saying  is  that  a  man  is  as  old  as  his  arteriee. 
Pitts  has  hardening  of  the  arteries,  arteriosclerosis 
— perhaps  other  heart  and  kidney  troubles,  in  short 
pre-senility." 

Craig  paused:  then  added  sententiously  as  if  to 
himself:  "You  have  heard  the  latest  theories  about 
old  age,  that  it  is  due  to  microbic  poisons  secreted  in 
the  intestines  and  penetrating  the  intestinal  walls? 
Well,  in  premature  senility  the  symptoms  are  the 
same  as  in  senility,  only  mental  acuteness  is  not  so 
impaired." 

We  had  now  reached  the  kitchen  again.  The  stu- 
dent had  also  brought  down  to  Kennedy  a  number 
of  sterilised  microscope  slides  and  test-tubes,  and 
from  here  and  there  in  the  masses  of  blood  spots  Ken- 
nedy was  taking  and  preserving  samples.  He  also 


The  Elixir  of  Life  139 

took  samples  of  the  various  foods,  which  he  preserved 
in  the  sterilised  tubes. 

While  he  was  at  work  Edward  joined  us  cautiously. 

"Has  anything  happened?"  asked  Craig. 

"A  message  came  by  a  boj  for  Mrs.  Pitta,"  whis- 
pered the  valet. 

"What  did  she  do  with  it?" 

"Tore  it  up." 

"And  the  pieces?" 

"She  must  have  hidden  them  somewhere/5 

"See  if  you  can  get  them." 

Edward  nodded  and  left  us. 

"Yes,"  I  remarked  after  he  had  gone,  "it  does  seem 
as  if  the  thing  to  do  was  to  get  on  the  trail  of  a  per- 
son bearing  wounds  of  some  kind.  I  notice,  for  one 
thing,  Craig,  that  Edward  shows  no  such  marks,  nor 
does  any  one  else  in  the  house  as  far  as  I  can  see.  If 
it  were  an  'inside  job'  I  fancy  Edward  at  least  could 
clear  himself.  The  point  is  to  find  the  person  with 
a  bandaged  hand  or  plastered  face." 

Kennedy  assented,  but  his  mind  was  on  another 
subject.  "Before  we  go  we  must  see  Mrs.  Pitts  alone, 
if  we  can,"  he  said  simply. 

In  answer  to  his  inquiry  through  one  of  the  serv- 
ants she  sent  down  word  that  she  would  see  us  im- 
mediately in  her  sitting-room.  The  events  of  the 
morning  had  quite  naturally  upset  her,  and  she  was, 
if  anything,  even  paler  than  when  we  saw  her  be- 
fore. 

"Mrs.  Pitts,"  began  Kennedy,  "I  suppose  you  are 
aware  of  the  physical  condition  of  your  husband?" 


140  The  Dream  Doctor 

It  seemed  a  little  abrupt  to  me  at  first,  but  he  in- 
tended it  to  be.  "Why,"  she  asked  with  real  alarm, 
"is  he  so  very  badly?" 

"Pretty  badly,"  remarked  Kennedy  mercilessly,  ob- 
serving the  effect  of  his  words.  "So  badly,  I  fear, 
that  it  would  not  require  much  more  excitement  like 
to-day's  to  bring  on  an  attack  of  apoplexy.  I  should 
advise  you  to  take  especial  care  of  him,  Mrs.  Pitts." 

Following  his  eyes,  I  tried  to  determine  whether 
the  agitation  of  the  woman  before  us  was  genuine 
or  not.  It  certainly  looked  so.  But  then,  I  knew 
that  she  had  been  an  actress  before  her  marriage. 
Was  she  acting  a  part  now? 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked  tremulously. 

"Mrs.  Pitts,"  replied  Kennedy  quickly,  observing 
still  the  play  of  emotion  on  her  delicate  features, 
"some  one,  I  believe,  either  regularly  in  or  employed 
in  this  house  or  who  had  a  ready  means  of  access  to 
it  must  have  entered  that  kitchen  last  night.  For 
what  purpose,  I  can  leave  you  to  judge.  But  Sana 
surprised  the  intruder  there  and  was  killed  for  his 
faithfulness." 

Her  startled  look  told  plainly  that  though  she 
might  have  suspected  something  of  the  sort  she  did 
not  think  that  any  one  else  suspected,  much  less 
actually  perhaps  knew  it. 

"I  can't  imagine  who  it  could  be,  unless  it  might 
be  one  of  the  servants,"  she  murmured  hastily;  add- 
ing, "and  there  is  none  of  them  that  I  have  any  right 
to  suspect." 

She  had  in  a  measure  regained  her  composure,  and 
Kennedy  felt  that  it  was  no  use  to  pursue  the  con- 


The  Elixir  of  Life  141 

versation  further,  perhaps  expose  his  hand  before  he 
was  ready  to  play  it. 

"That  woman  is  concealing  something,"  remarked 
Kennedy  to  me  as  we  left  the  house  a  few  minutes 
later. 

"She  at  least  bears  no  marks  of  violence  herself  of 
any  kind,"  I  commented. 

"No,"  agreed  Craig,  "no,  you  are  right  so  far." 
He  added:  "I  shall  be  very  busy  in  the  laboratory 
this  afternoon,  and  probably  longer.  However,  drop 
in  at  dinner  time,  and  in  the  meantime,  don't  say  a 
word  to  any  one,  but  just  use  your  position  on  the 
Star  to  keep  in  touch  with  anything  the  police  au- 
thorities may  be  doing." 

It  was  not  a  difficult  commission,  since  they  did 
nothing  but  issue  a  statement,  the  net  import  of 
which  was  to  let  the  public  know  that  they  were  very 
active,  although  they  had  nothing  to  report. 

Kennedy  was  still  busy  when  I  rejoined  him,  a  lit- 
tle late  purposely,  since  I  knew  that  he  would  be  over 
his  head  in  work. 

"What's  this — a  zoo?"  I  asked,  looking  about  me 
as  I  entered  the  sanctum  that  evening. 

There  were  dogs  and  guinea  pigs,  rats  and  mice, 
a  menagerie  that  would  have  delighted  a  small  boy. 
It  did  not  look  like  the  same  old  laboratory  for  the 
investigation  of  criminal  science,  though  I  saw  on  a 
second  glance  that  it  was  the  same,  that  there  was 
the  usual  hurly-burly  of  microscopes,  test-tubes,  and 
all  the  paraphernalia  that  were  so  mystifying  at  first 
but  in  the  end  under  his  skilful  hand  made  the  most 
complicated  cases  seem  stupidly  simple. 


142  The  Dream  Doctor 

Craig  smiled  at  my  surprise.  "I'm  making  a  little 
study  of  intestinal  poisons,"  he  commented,  "poisons 
produced  by  microbes  which  we  keep  under  more  or 
less  control  in  healthy  life.  In  death  they  are  the 
little  fellows  that  extend  all  over  the  body  and  pu- 
trefy it.  We  nourish  within  ourselves  microbes  which 
secrete  very  virulent  poisons,  and  when  those  poisons 
are  too  much  for  us — well,  we  grow  old.  At  least 
that  is  the  theory  of  Metchnikoff,  who  says  that  old 
age  is  an  infectious  chronic,  disease.  Somehow,"  he 
added  thoughtfully,  "that  beautiful  white  kitchen  in 
the  Pitts  home  had  really  become  a  factory  for  in- 
testinal poisons." 

There  was  an  air  of  suppressed  excitement  in  his 
manner  which  told  me  that  Kennedy  was  on  the  trail 
of  something  unusual. 

"Mouth  murder,"  he  cried  at  length,  "that  was 
what  was  being  done  in  that  wonderful  kitchen.  Do 
you  know,  the  scientific  slaying  of  human  beings  has 
far  exceeded  organised  efforts  at  detection?  Of 
course  you  expect  me  to  say  that;  you  think  I  look 
at  such  things  through  coloured  glasses.  But  it  is  a 
fact,  nevertheless. 

"It  is  a  very  simple  matter  for  the  police  to  appre- 
hend the  common  murderer  whose  weapon  is  a  knife 
'  or  a  gun,  but  it  is  a  different  thing  when  they  in- 
vestigate the  death  of  a  person  who  has  been  the  vic- 
tim of  the  modern  murderer  who  slays,  let  us  say. 
with  some  kind  of  deadly  bacilli.  Authorities  say, 
and  I  agree  with  them,  that  hundreds  of  murders  are 
committed  in  this  country  every  year  and  are  not 
detected  because  the  detectives  are  not  scientists, 


The  Elixir  of  Life  143 

while  the  slayers  have  used  the  knowledge  of  the  sci- 
entists both  to  commit  and  to  cover  up  the  crimes.  I 
tell  you,  Walter,  a  murder  science  bureau  not  only 
would  clear  up  nearly  every  poison  mystery,  but  also 
it  would  inspire  such  a  wholesome  fear  among 
would-be  murderers  that  they  would  abandon  many 
attempts  to  take  life." 

He  was  as  excited  over  the  case  as  I  had  ever  seen 
him.  Indeed  it  was  one  that  evidently  taxed  his  ut- 
most powers. 

"What  have  you  found?"  I  asked,  startled. 

"You  remember  my  use  of  the  sphygmomano- 
meter?"  he  asked.  "In  the  first  place  that  put  me 
on  what  seems  to  be  a  clear  trail.  The  most  dreaded 
of  all  the  ills  of  the  cardiac  and  vascular  systems 
nowadays  seems  to  be  arterio-sclerosis,  or  hardening 
of  the  arteries.  It  is  possible  for  a  man  of  forty- 
odd,  like  Mr.  Pitts,  to  have  arteries  in  a  condition 
which  would  not  be  encountered  normally  in  persons 
under  seventy  years  of  age. 

"The  hard  or  hardening  artery  means  increased 
blood  pressure,  with  a  consequent  increased  strain 
on  the  heart.  This  may  lead,  has  led  in  this  case, 
to  a  long  train  of  distressing  symptoms,  and,  of 
course,  to  ultimate  death.  Heart  disease,  according 
to  statistics,  is  carrying  off  a  greater  percentage  of 
persons  than  formerly.  This  fact  cannot  be  denied, 
and  it  is  attributed  largely  to  worry,  the  abnormal 
rush  of  the  life  of  to-day,  and  sometimes  to  faulty 
methods  of  eating  and  bad  nutrition.  On  the  sur- 
face, these  natural  causes  might  seem  to  be  at  work 

with  Mr.  Pitts.     But,  Walter,  I  do  not  believe  it,  I 

10 


144  The  Dream  Doctor 

do  not  believe  it.  There  is  more  than  that,  here. 
Come,  I  can  do  nothing  more  to-night,  until  I  learn 
more  from  these  animals  and  the  cultures  which  I 
have  in  these  tubes.  Let  us  take  a  turn  or  two,  then 
dine,  and  perhaps  we  may  get  some  word  at  our 
apartment  from  Edward." 

It  was  late  that  night  when  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door 
proved  that  Kennedy's  hope  had  not  been  unfounded. 
I  opened  it  and  let  in  Edward,  the  valet,  who  pro- 
duced the  fragments  of  a  note,  torn  and  crumpled. 

"There  is  nothing  new,  sir,"  he  explained,  "except 
that  Mrs.  Pitts  seems  more  nervous  than  ever,  and 
Mr.  Pitts,  I  think,  is  feeling  a  little  brighter." 

Kennedy  said  nothing,  but  was  hard  at  work  with 
puckered  brows  at  piecing  together  the  note  which 
Edward  had  obtained  after  hunting  through  the 
house.  It  had  been  thrown  into  a  fireplace  in  Mrs. 
Pitts's  own  room,  and  only  by  chance  had  part  of  it 
been  unconsumed.  The  body  of  the  note  was  gone 
altogether,  but  the  first  part  and  the  last  part  re- 
mained. 

Apparently  it  had  been  written  the  very  morning 
on  which  the  murder  was  discovered. 

It  read  simply,  "I  have  succeeded  in  having  Thorn- 
ton declared  .  .  .  '  Then  there  was  a  break.  The 
last  words  were  legible,  and  were,  "...  confined  in 
a  suitable  institution  where  he  can  cause  no  future 
harm." 

There  was  no  signature,  as  if  the  sender  had  per- 
fectly understood  that  the  receiver  would  understand. 

"Not  difficult  to  supply  some  of  the  context,  at  any 
rate,"  mused  Kennedy.  "Whoever  Thornton  may  be4 


The  Elixir  of  Life  145 

some  one  has  succeeded  in  having  him  declared  'in- 
sane/ I  should  supply.  If  he  is  in  an  institution 
near  New  York,  we  must  be  able  to  locate  him.  Ed- 
ward, this  is  a  very  important  clue.  There  is  nothing 
else." 

Kennedy  employed  the  remainder  of  the  night  in 
obtaining  a  list  of  all  the  institutions,  both  public 
and  private,  within  a  considerable  radius  of  the  city 
where  the  insane  might  be  detained. 

The  next  morning,  after  an  hour  or  so  spent  in 
the  laboratory  apparently  in  confirming  some  control 
tests  which  Kennedy  had  laid  out  to  make  sure  that 
he  was  not  going  wrong  in  the  line  of  inquiry  he  was 
pursuing,  we  started  off  in  a  series  of  flying  visits 
to  the  various  sanitaria  about  the  city  in  search  of 
an  inmate  named  Thornton. 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  many  curious 
sights  and  experiences  we  saw  and  had.  I  could 
readily  believe  that  any  one  who  spent  even  as  little 
time  as  we  did  might  almost  think  that  the  very 
world  was  going  rapidly  insane.  There  were  lit- 
erally thousands  of  names  in  the  lists  which  we  ex- 
amined patiently,  going  through  them  all,  since  Ken- 
nedy was  not  at  all  sure  that  Thornton  might  not  be 
a  first  name,  and  we  had  no  time  to  waste  on  taking 
any  chances. 

It  was  not  until  long  after  dusk  that,  weary  with 
the  search  and  dust-covered  from  our  hasty  scouring 
of  the  country  in  an  automobile  which  Kennedy  had 
hired  after  exhausting  the  city  institutions,  we  came 
to  a  small  private  asylum  up  in  Westchester.  I  had 
almost  been  willing  to  give  it  up  for  the  day,  to  start 


146  The  Dream  Doctor 

afresh  on  the  morrow,  but  Kennedy  seemed  to  feel 
that  the  case  was  too  urgent  to  lose  even  twelve  hours 
over. 

It  was  a  peculiar  place,  isolated,  out-of-the-way, 
and  guarded  by  a  high  brick  wall  that  enclosed  a 
pretty  good  sized  garden. 

A  ring  at  the  bell  brought  a  sharp-eyed  maid  to 
the  door. 

"Have  you — er — any  one  here  named  Thornton — 
er — ?"  Kennedy  paused  in  such  a  way  that  if  it  were 
the  last  name  he  might  come  to  a  full  stop,  and  if  it 
were  a  first  name  he  could  go  on. 

"There  is  a  Mr.  Thornton  who  came  yesterday," 
she  snapped  ungraciously,  "but  you  can  not  see  him. 
It's  against  the  rules." 

"Yes — yesterday,"  repeated  Kennedy  eagerly,  ig- 
noring her  tartness.  "Could  I — "  he  slipped  a 
crumpled  treasury  note  into  her  hand — "could  I 
speak  to  Mr.  Thornton's  nurse?" 

The  note  seemed  to  render  the  acidity  of  the  girl 
slightly  alkaline.  She  opened  the  door  a  little  fur- 
ther, and  we  found  ourselves  in  a  plainly  furnished 
reception  room,  alone. 

We  might  have  been  in  the  reception-room  of  a 
prosperous  country  gentleman,  so  quiet  was  it.  There 
was  none  of  the  raving,  as  far  as  I  could  make  out. 
that  I  should  have  expected  even  in  a  twentieth  cen- 
tury Bedlam,  no  material  for  a  Poe  story  of  Dr.  Tarr 
and  Professor  Feather. 

At  length  the  hall  door  opened,  and  a  man  entered, 
not  a  prepossessing  man,  it  is  true,  with  his  large  and 


The  Elixir  of  Life  147 

powerful  hands  and  arms  and  slightly  bowed,  almost 
bulldog  legs.  Yet  he  was  not  of  that  aggressive  kind 
which  would  make  a  show  of  physical  strength  with- 
out good  and  sufficient  cause. 

"You  have  charge  of  Mr.  Thornton?"  inquired 
Kennedy. 

"Yes,"  was  the  curt  response. 

"I  trust  he  is  all  right  here?" 

"He  wouldn't  be  here  if  he  was  all  right,"  was  the 
quick  reply.  "And  who  might  you  be?" 

"I  knew  him  in  the  old  days,"  replied  Craig 
evasively.  "My  friend  here  does  not  know  him,  but 
I  was  in  this  part  of  Westchester  visiting  and  having 
heard  he  was  here  thought  I  would  drop  in,  just  for 
old  time's  sake.  That  is  all." 

"How  did  you  know  he  was  here?"  asked  the  man 
suspiciously. 

"I  heard  indirectly  from  a  friend  of  mine,  Mrs. 
Pitts." 

"Oh." 

The  man  seemed  to  accept  the  explanation  at  its 
face  value. 

"Is  he  very — very  badly?"  asked  Craig  with  well- 
feigned  interest. 

"Well,"  replied  the  man,  a  little  mollified  by  a  good 
cigar  which  I  produced,  "don't  you  go  a-telling  her. 
but  if  he  says  the  name  Minna  once  a  day  it  is  a  thou- 
sand times.  Them  drug-dopes  has  some  strange  de- 
lusions." 

"Strange  delusions?"  queried  Craig.  "Why,  what 
do  you  mean?" 


148  The  Dream  Doctor 

"Say,"  ejaculated  the  man.  "I  don't  know  you, 
You  come  here  saying  you're  friends  of  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton's. How  do  I  know  what  you  are?" 

"Well,"  Tentured  Kennedy,  "suppose  I  should  also 
tell  you  I  am  a  friend  of  the  man  who  committed 
him." 

"Of  Dr.  Thompson  Lord?" 

"Exactly.  My  friend  here  knows  Dr.  Lord  very 
well,  don't  you,  Walter?" 

Thus  appealed  to  I  hastened  to  add,  "Indeed  I  do." 
Then,  improving  the  opening,  I  hastened:  "Is  this 
Mr.  Thornton  violent?  I  think  this  is  one  of  the 
most  quiet  institutions  I  ever  saw  for  so  small  a 
place." 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"Because,"  I  added,  "I  thought  some  drug  fiends 
were  violent  and  had  to  be  restrained  by  force,  often." 

"You  won't  find  a  mark  or  a  scratch  on  him,  sir," 
replied  the  man.  "That  ain't  our  system." 

"Not  a  mark  or  scratch  on  him,"  repeated  Kennedy 
thoughtfully.  "I  wonder  if  he'd  recognise  me?" 

"Can't  say,"  concluded  the  man.  "What's  more, 
can't  try.  It's  against  the  rules.  Only  your  know- 
ing so  many  he  knows  has  got  you  this  far.  You'll 
have  to  call  on  a  regular  day  or  by  appointment  to 
see  him,  gentlemen." 

There  was  an  air  of  finality  about  the  last  state- 
ment that  made  Kennedy  rise  and  move  toward  the 
door  with  a  hearty  "Thank  you,  for  your  kindness," 
and  a  wish  to  be  remembered  to  "poor  old  Thornton." 

As  we  climbed  into  the  car  he  poked  me  in  the  ribs. 
"Just  as  good  for  the  present  as  if  we  had  seen  him." 


The  Elixir  of  Life  149 

he  exclaimed.  "Drug-fiend,  friend  of  Mrs.  Pitts,  com- 
mitted by  Dr.  Lord,  no  wounds." 

Then  he  lapsed  into  silence  as  we  sped  back  to 
the  city. 

"The  Pitts  house,"  ordered  Kennedy  as  we  bowled 
along,  after  noting  by  his  watch  that  it  was  after 
nine.  Then  to  me  he  added,  "We  must  see  Mrs.  Pitts 
once  more,  and  alone." 

We  waited  some  time  after  Kennedy  sent  up  word 
that  he  would  like  to  see  Mrs.  Pitts.  At  last  dhe  ap- 
peared. I  thought  she  avoided  Kennedy's  eye,  and 
I  am  sure  that  her  intuition  told  her  that  he  had  some 
revelation  to  make,  against  which  she  was  steeling 
herself. 

Craig  greeted  her  as  reassuringly  as  he  could,  but 
as  she  sat  nervously  before  us,  I  could  see  that  she 
was  in  reality  pale,  worn,  and  anxious. 

"We  have  had  a  rather  hard  day,"  began  Kennedy 
after  the  usual  polite  inquiries  about  her  own  and 
her  husband's  health  had  been,  I  thought,  a  little  pro- 
longed by  him. 

"Indeed  ?"  she  asked.  "Have  you  come  any  closer 
to  the  truth?" 

Kennedy  met  her  eyes,  and  she  turned  away. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Jameson  and  I  have  put  in  the  better 
part  of  the  day  in  going  from  one  institution  for  the 
insane  to  another." 

He  paused.  The  startled  look  on  her  face  told  as 
plainly  as  words  that  his  remark  had  struck  home. 

Without  giving  her  a  chance  to  reply,  or  to  think 
of  a  verbal  means  of  escape,  Craig  hurried  on  with 
an  account  of  what  we  had  done,  saying  nothing  about 


150  The  Dream  Doctor 

the  original  letter  which  had  started  us  on  the  search 
for  Thornton,  but  leaving  it  to  be  inferred  by  her 
that  he  knew  much  more  than  he  cared  to  tell. 

"In  short,  Mrs.  Pitts,"  he  concluded  firmly,  "I  do 
not  need  to  tell  you  that  I  already  know  much  about 
the  matter  which  you  are  concealing." 

The  piling  up  of  fact  on  fact,  mystifying  as  it  was 
to  me  who  had  as  yet  no  inkling  of  what  it  was  tend- 
ing toward,  proved  too  much  for  the  woman  who 
knew  the  truth,  yet  did  not  know  how  much  Kennedy 
knew  of  it.  Minna  Pitts  was  pacing  the  floor  wildly, 
all  the  assumed  manner  of  the  actress  gone  from  her, 
yet  with  the  native  grace  and  feeling  of  the  born 
actress  playing  unrestrained  in  her  actions. 

"You  know  only  part  of  my  story,"  she  cried,  fixing 
him  with  her  now  tearless  eyes.  "It  is  only  a  ques- 
tion of  time  when  you  will  worm  it  all  out  by  your 
uncanny,  occult  methods.  Mr.  Kennedy,  I  cast  my- 
self on  you." 


X 

The  Toxin  of  Death 

THE  note  of  appeal  in  her  tone  was  powerful,  but 
I  could  not  so  readily  shake  off  my  first  sus- 
picions of  the  woman.  Whether  or  not  she  convinced 
Kennedy,  he  did  not  show. 

"I  was  only  a  young  girl  when  I  met  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton," she  raced  on.  "I  was  not  yet  eighteen  when 
we  were  married.  Too  late,  I  found  out  the  curse 
of  his  life — and  of  mine.  He  was  a  drug  fiend.  From 
the  very  first  life  with  him  was  insupportable.  I 
stood  it  as  long  as  I  could,  but  when  he  beat  me  be- 
cause he  had  no  money  to  buy  drugs,  I  left  him.  I 
gave  myself  up  to  my  career  on  the  stage.  Later  I 
heard  that  he  was  dead — a  suicide.  I  worked,  day 
and  night,  slaved,  and  rose  in  the  profession — until, 
at  last,  I  met  Mr.  Pitts." 

She  paused,  and  it  was  evident  that  it  was  with 
a  struggle  that  she  could  talk  so. 

"Three  months  after  I  was  married  to  him,  Thorn- 
ton suddenly  reappeared,  from  the  dead  it  seemed 
to  me.  He  did  not  want  me  back.  No,  indeed.  All 
he  wanted  was  money.  I  gave  him  money,  my  own 
money,  for  I  made  a  great  deal  in  my  stage  days. 
But  his  demands  increased.  To  silence  him  I  have 
paid  him  thousands.  He  squandered  tbem  faster 
than  ever.  And  finally,  when  it  became  unbearable, 

151 


152  The  Dream  Doctor 

I  appealed  to  a  friend.  That  friend  has  now  suc- 
ceeded in  placing  this  man  quietly  in  a  sanitarium 
for  the  insane." 

"And  the  murder  of  the  chef?"  shot  out  Kennedy. 

She  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  us  in  alarm. 
"Before  God,  I  know  no  more  of  that  than  does  Mr. 
Pitts." 

Was  she  telling  the  truth?  Would  she  stop  at  any- 
thing to  avoid  the  scandal  and  disgrace  of  the  charge 
of  bigamy?  Was  there  not  something  still  that  she 
was  concealing?  She  took  refuge  in  the  last  resort 
— tears. 

Encouraging  as  it  was  to  have  made  such  progress, 
it  did  not  seem  to  me  that  we  were  much  nearer, 
after  all,  to  the  solution  of  the  mystery.  Kennedy, 
as  usual,  had  nothing  to  say  until  he  was  absolutely 
sure  of  his  ground.  He  spent  the  greater  part  of  the 
next  day  hard  at  work  over  the  minute  investiga- 
tions of  his  laboratory,  leaving  me  to  arrange  the  de- 
tails of  a  meeting  he  planned  for  that  night, 

There  were  present  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pitts,  the  former 
in  charge  of  Dr.  Lord.  The  valet,  Edward,  was  also 
there,  and  in  a  neighbouring  room  was  Thornton  in 
charge  of  two  nurses  from  the  sanitarium.  Thorn- 
ton was  a  sad  wreck  of  a  man  now,  whatever  he  might 
have  been  when  his  blackmail  furnished  him  with  an 
unlimited  supply  of  his  favourite  drugs. 

"Let  us  go  .back  to  the  very  start  of  the  case,"  be- 
gan Kennedy  when  we  had  all  assembled,  "the  mur- 
der of  the  chef,  Sam." 

It  seemed  that  the  mere  sound  of  his  voice  electri- 
fied his  little  audience.  I  fancied  a  shudder  passed 


The  Toxin  of  Death  153 

over  the  slight  form  of  Mrs.  Pitts,  as  she  must  have 
realised  that  this  was  the  point  where  Kennedy  had 
left  off,  in  his  questioning  her  the  night  before. 

"There  is,"  he  went  on  slowly,  "a  blood  test  so  deli- 
cute  that  one  might  almost  say  that  he  could  identify 
a  criminal  by  his  very  blood-crystals — the  finger- 
prints, so  to  speak,  of  his  blood.  It  was  by  means 
of  these  'hemoglobin  clues/  if  I  may  call  them  so, 
that  I  was  able  to  get  on  the  right  trail.  For  the 
fact  is  that  a  man's  blood  is  not  like  that  of  any  other 
living  creature.  Blood  of  different  men,  of  men  and 
women  differ.  I  believe  that  in  time  we  shall  be  able 
to  refine  this  test  to  tell  the  exact  individual,  too. 

"What  is  this  principle?  It  is  that  the  hemo- 
globin or  red  colouring-matter  of  the  blood  forms 
crystals.  That  has  long  been  known,  but  working  on 
this  fact  Dr.  Reichert  and  Professor  Brown  of  the 
University  of  Pennsylvania  have  made  some  wonder- 
ful discoveries. 

"We  could  distinguish  human  from  animal  blood 
before,  it  is  true.  But  the  discovery  of  these  two 
scientists  takes  us  much  further.  By  means  of 
blood-crystals  we  can  distinguish  the  blood  of  man 
from  that  of  the  animals  and  in  addition  that  of  white 
men  from  that  of  negroes  and  other  races.  It  is  often 
the  only  way  of  differentiating  between  various  kinds 
of  blood. 

"The  variations  in  crystals  in  the  blood  are  in  part 
of  form  and  in  part  of  molecular  structure,  the  latter 
being  discovered  only  by  means  of  the  polarising 
microscope.  A  blood-crystal  is  only  one  two-thou- 
sand-two-hundred-and-fiftieth  of  an  inch  in  length  and 


The  Dream  Doctor 

one  nine-thousandth  of  an  inch  in  breadth.  And  yet, 
minute  as  these  crystals  are,  this  discovery  is  of  im- 
mense medico-legal  importance.  Crime  may  now  be 
traced  by  blood-crystals." 

He  displayed  on  his  table  a  number  of  enlarged 
micro-photographs.  Some  were  labelled,  "Charac- 
teristic crystals  of  white  man's  blood" ;  others  "Crys- 
tallisation of  negro  blood";  still  others,  "Blood- 
crystals  of  the  cat." 

"I  have  here,"  he  resumed,  after  we  had  all  exam- 
ined the  photographs  and  had  seen  that  there  was 
indeed  a  vast  amount  of  difference,  "three  charac- 
teristic kinds  of  crystals,  all  of  which  I  found  in  the 
various  spots  in  the  kitchen  of  Mr.  Pitts.  There  were 
three  kinds  of  blood,  by  the  infallible  Reichert  test." 

I  had  been  prepared  for  his  discovery  of  two  kinds, 
but  three  heightened  the  mystery  still  more. 

"There  was  only  a  very  little  of  the  blood  which 
was  that  of  the  poor,  faithful,  unfortunate  Sam,  the 
negro  chef,"  Kennedy  went  on.  "A  little  more,  found 
far  from  his  body,  is  that  of  a  white  person.  But 
most  of  it  is  not  human  blood  at  all.  It  was  the 
blood  of  a  cat." 

The  revelation  was  startling.  Before  any  of  us 
could  ask,  he  hastened  to  explain. 

"It  was  placed  there  by  some  one  who  wished  to 
exaggerate  the  struggle  in  order  to  divert  suspicion. 
That  person  had  indeed  been  wounded  slightly,  but 
wished  it  to  appear  that  the  wounds  were  very  seri- 
ous. The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  the  carving-knife 
is  spotted  deeply  with  blood,  but  it  is  not  human 
blood.  It  is  the  blood  of  a  cat.  A  few  years  ago 


The  Toxin  of  Death  155 

eren  a  scientific  detective  would  have  concluded  that 
a  fierce  hand-to-hand  struggle  had  been  waged  and 
that  the  murderer  was,  perhaps,  fatally  wounded. 
Now,  another  conclusion  stands,  proved  infallibly  by 
this  Reichert  test.  The  murderer  was  wounded,  but 
not  badly.  That  person  even  went  out  of  the  room 
and  returned  later,  probably  with  a  can  of  animal 
blood,  sprinkled  it  about  to  give  the  appearance  of 
a  struggle,  perhaps  thought  of  preparing  in  this  way 
a  plea  of  self-defence.  If  that  latter  was  the  case, 
this  Reichert  test  completely  destroys  it,  clever 
though  it  was." 

No  one  spoke,  but  the  same  thought  was  openly  in 
all  our  minds.  Who  was  this  wounded  criminal? 

I  asked  myself  the  usual  query  of  the  lawyers  and 
the  detectives —  Who  would  benefit  most  by  the 
death  of  Pitts?  There  was  but  one  answer,  appar- 
ently, to  that.  It  was  Minna  Pitts.  Yet  it  was  dif- 
ficult for  me  to  believe  that  a  woman  of  her  ordinary 
gentleness  could  be  here  to-night,  faced  even  by  so 
great  exposure,  yet  be  so  solicitous  for  him  as  she 
had  been  and  then  at  the  same  time  be  plotting 
against  him.  I  gave  it  up,  determining  to  let  Ken- 
nedy unravel  it  in  his  own  way. 

Craig  evidently  had  the  same  thought  in  his  mind, 
,however,  for  he  continued:  "Was  it  a  woman  who 
killed  the  chef?  No,  for  the  third  specimen  of  blood, 
that  of  the  white  person,  was  the  blood  of  a  man; 
not  of  a  woman." 

Pitts  had  been  following  closely,  his  unnatural 
eyes  now  gleaming.  "You  said  he  was  wounded,  you 
remember,"  he  interrupted,  as  if  casting  about  in  his 


156  The  Dream  Doctor 

mind  to  recall  some  one  who  bore  a  recent  wound. 
"Perhaps  it  was  not  a  bad  wound,  but  it  was  a  wound, 
nevertheless,  and  some  one  must  have  seen  it,  must 
know  about  it.  It  is  not  three  days." 

Kennedy  shook  his  head.  It  was  a  point  that  had 
bothered  him  a  great  deal. 

"As  to  the  wounds,"  he  added  in  a  measured  tone, 
"although  this  occurred  scarcely  three  days  ago,  there 
is  no  person  even  remotely  suspected  of  the  crime  who 
can  be  said  to  bear  on  his  hands  or  face  others  than 
old  scars  of  wounds." 

He  paused.  Then  he  shot  out  in  quick  staccato, 
"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Dr.  Carrel's  most  recent  dis- 
covery of  accelerating  the  healing  of  wounds  so  that 
those  which  under  ordinary  circumstances  might  take 
ten  days  to  heal  might  be  healed  in  twenty-four 
hours?" 

Rapidly,  now,  he  sketched  the  theory.  "If  the  fac- 
tors that  bring  about  the  multiplication  of  cells  and 
the  growth  of  tissues  were  discovered,  Dr.  Carrel  said 
to  himself,  it  would  perhaps  become  possible  to  hasten 
artificially  the  process  of  repair  of  the  body.  Aseptic 
wounds  could  probably  be  made  to  cicatrise  more  rap- 
idly. If  the  rate  of  reparation  of  tissue  were  has- 
tened only  ten  times,  a  skin  wound  would  heal  in  less 
than  twenty-four  hours  and  a  fracture  of  the  leg  in 
four  or  five  days. 

"For  five  years  Dr.  Carrel  has  been  studying  the 
subject,  applying  various  extracts  to  wounded  tissues. 
All  of  them  increased  the  growth  of  connective  tissue. 
but  the  degree  of  acceleration  varied  greatly.  In 


The  Toxin  of  Death  157 

some  cases  it  was  as  high  as  forty  times  the  normal. 
Dr.  Carrel's  dream  of  ten  times  the  normal  was  ex- 
ceeded by  himself." 

Astounded  as  we  were  by  this  revelation,  Kennedy 
did  not  seem  to  consider  it  as  important  as  one  that 
he  was  now  hastening  to  show  us.  He  took  a  few 
cubic  centimetres  of  some  culture  which  he  had  been 
preparing,  placed  it  in  a  tube,  and  poured  in  eight 
or  ten  drops  of  sulphuric  acid.  He  shook  it. 

"I  have  here  a  culture  from  some  of  the  food  that 
I  found  was  being  or  had  been  prepared  for  Mr. 
Pitts.  It  wras  in  the  icebox." 

Then  he  took  another  tube.  "This,"  he  remarked, 
"is  a  one-to-one-thousand  solution  of  sodium  nitrite." 

He  held  it  up  carefully  and  poured  three  or  four 
cubic  centimetres  of  it  into  the  first  tube  so  that  it  ran 
carefully  down  the  side  in  a  manner  such  as  to  form 
a  sharp  line  of  contact  between  the  heavier  culture 
with  the  acid  and  the  lighter  nitrite  solution. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "the  reaction  is  very  clear  cut 
if  you  do  it  this  way.  The  ordinary  method  in  the 
laboratory  and  the  text-books  is  crude  and  uncertain." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Pitts  eagerly,  leaning  forward 
with  unwonted  strength  and  noting  the  pink  colour 
that  appeared  at  the  junction  of  the  two  liquids,  con- 
trasting sharply  with  the  portions  above  and  below. 

"The  ring  or  contact  test  for  indol,"  Kennedy  re- 
plied, with  evident  satisfaction.  "When  the  acid  and 
the  nitrites  are  mixed  the  colour  reaction  is  unsatis- 
factory. The  natural  yellow  tint  masks  that  pink 
tint,  or  sometimes  causes  it  to  disappear,  if  the  tube 


158  The  Dream  Doctor 

is  shaken.  But  this  is  simple,  clear,  delicate — unes- 
capable.  There  was  indol  in  that  food  of  yours,  Mr. 
Pitts." 

"Indol?"  repeated  Pitts. 

"Is,"  explained  Kennedy,  "a  chemical  compound — 
one  of  the  toxins  secreted  by  intestinal  bacteria  and 
responsible  for  many  of  the  symptoms  of  senility.  It 
used  to  be  thought  that  large  doses  of  indol  might  be 
consumed  with  little  or  no  effect  on  normal  man,  but 
now  we  know  that  headache,  insomnia,  confusion,  ir- 
ritability, decreased  activity  of  the  cells,  and  intoxi- 
cation are  possible  from  it.  Comparatively  small 
doses  over  a  long  time  produce  changes  in  organs  that 
lead  to  serious  results. 

"It  is,"  went  on  Kennedy,  as  the  full  horror  of  the 
thing  sank  into  our  minds,  "the  indol-  and  phenol- 
producing  bacteria  which  are  the  undesirable  citizens 
of  the  body,  while  the  lactic-acid  producing  germs 
check  the  production  of  indol  and  phenol.  In  my 
tests  here  to-day,  I  injected  four  one-hundredths  of  a 
grain  of  indol  into  a  guinea-pig.  The  animal  had 
sclerosis  or  hardening  of  the  aorta.  The  liver,  kid- 
neys, and  supra-renals  were  affected,  and  there  was  a 
hardening  of  the  brain.  In  short,  there  were  all  the 
symptoms  of  old  age." 

We  sat  aghast.  Indol!  What  black  magic  was 
this?  Who  put  it  in  the  food? 

"It  is  present,"  continued  Craig,  "in  much  larger 
quantities  than  all  the  Metchnikoff  germs  could  neu- 
tralise. What  the  chef  was  ordered  to  put  into  the 
food  to  benefit  you,  Mr.  Pitts,  was  rendered  valueless, 
and  a  deadly  poison  was  added  by  what  another — "" 


The  Toxin  of  Death  159 

Minna  Pitts  had  been  clutching  for  support  at  the 
arms  of  her  chair  as  Kennedy  proceeded.  She  now 
threw  herself  at  the  feet  of  Emery  Pitts. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  sobhed.  "I  can  stand  it  no 
longer.  I  had  tried  to  keep  this  thing  about  Thorn- 
ton from  you.  I  have  tried  to  make  you  happy  and 
well — oh — tried  so  hard,  so  faithfully.  Yet  that  old 
skeleton  of  my  past  which  I  thought  was  buried  would 
not  stay  buried.  I  have  bought  Thornton  off  again 
and  again,  with  money — my  money — only  to  find  him 
threatening  again.  But  about  this  other  thing,  this 
poison,  I  am  as  innocent,  and  I  believe  Thornton  is 
as— " 

Craig  laid  a  gentle  hand  on  her  lips.  She  rose 
wildly  and  faced  him  in  passionate  appeal. 

"Who — who  is  this  Thornton?"  demanded  Emery 
Pitts. 

Quickly,  delicately,  sparing  her  as  much  as  he 
could,  Craig  hurried  over  our  experiences. 

"He  is  in  the  next  room,"  Craig  went  on,  then  fac- 
ing Pitts  added:  "With  you  alive,  Emery  Pitts,  this 
blackmail  of  your  wife  might  have  gone  on,  although 
there  was  always  the  danger  that  you  might  hear  of 
it — and  do  as  I  see  you  have  already  done — forgive, 
and  plan  to  right  the  unfortunate  mistake.  But  with 
you  dead,  this  Thornton,  or  rather  some  one  using 
him,  might  take  away  from  Minna  Pitts  her  whole 
interest  in  your  estate,  at  a  word.  The  law,  or  your 
heirs  at  law,  would  never  forgive  as  you  would." 

Pitts,  long  poisoned  by  the  subtle  microbic  poison, 
stared  at  Kennedy  as  if  dazed. 

"Who  was  caught  in  your  kitchen,  Mr.  Pitts,  and, 
11 


160  The  Dream  Doctor 

to  escape  detection,  killed  your  faithful  chef  and  cov- 
ered his  own  traces  so  cleverly?"  rapped  out  Ken- 
nedy. "Who  would  have  known  the  new  process  of 
healing  wounds?  Who  knew  about  the  fatal  proper- 
ties of  indol?  Who  was  willing  to  forego  a  one-hun- 
dred-thousand-dollar prize  in  order  to  gain  a  fortune 
of  many  hundreds  of  thousands?" 

Kennedy  paused,  then  finished  with  irresistibly 
dramatic  logic, 

"WTho  else  but  the  man  who  held  the  secret  of 
Minna  Pitts's  past  and  power  over  her  future  so  long 
as  he  could  keep  alive  the  unfortunate  Thornton — 
the  up-to-date  doctor  who  substituted  an  elixir  of 
death  at  night  for  the  elixir  of  life  prescribed  for  you 
by  him  in  the  daytime — Dr.  Lord." 

Kennedy  had  moved  quietly  toward  the  door.  It 
was  unnecessary.  Dr.  Lord  was  cornered  and  knew 
it.  He  made  no  fight.  In  fact,  instantly  his  keen 
mind  was  busy  outlining  his  battle  in  court,  relying 
on  the  conflicting  testimony  of  hired  experts. 

"Minna,"  murmured  Pitts,  falling  back,  exhausted 
by  the  excitement,  on  his  pillows,  "Minna — forgive? 
What  is  there  to  forgive?  The  only  thing  to  do  is  to 
correct.  I  shall  be  well — soon  now — my  dear.  Then 
all  will  be  straightened  out." 

"Walter,"  whispered  Kennedy  to  me,  "while  we 
are  waiting,  you  can  arrange  to  have  Thornton  cared 
for  at  Dr.  Hodge's  Sanitarium." 

He  handed  me  a  card  with  the  directions  where  to 
take  the  unfortunate  man.  When  at  last  I  had 
Thornton  placed  where  no  one  else  could  do  any  harm 
'through  him,  I  hastened  back  to  the  laboratory. 


The  Toxin  of  Death  161 

Craig  was  still  there,  waiting  alone. 

"That  Dr.  Lord  will  be  a  tough  customer,"  he  re- 
marked. "Of  course  you're  not  interested  in  what 
happens  in  a  case  after  we  have  caught  the  criminal. 
But  that  often  is  really  only  the  beginning  of  the 
fight.  We've  got  him  safely  lodged  in  the  Tombs  now, 
however." 

"I  wish  there  was  some  elixir  for  fatigue,"  I  re- 
marked, as  we  closed  the  laboratory  that  night. 

"There  is,"  he  replied.  "A  homeopathic  remedy — 
more  fatigue." 

We  started  on  our  usual  brisk  roundabout  walk  to 
the  apartment  But  instead  of  going  to  bed,  Ken- 
nedy drew  a  book  from  the  bookcase. 

"I  shall  read  myself  to  sleep  to-night,"  he  ex- 
plained, settling  deeply  in  his  chair. 

As  for  me,  I  went  directly  to  my  room,  planning 
that  to-morrow  I  would  take  several  hours  off  and 
catch  up  in  my  notes. 

That  morning  Kennedy  was  summoned  downtown 
and  had  to  interrupt  more  important  duties  in  order 
to  appear  before  Dr.  Leslie  in  the  coroner's  inquest 
over  the  death  of  the  chef.  Dr.  Lord  was  held  for 
the  Grand  Jury,  but  it  was  not  until  nearly  noon  that 
Craig  returned. 

We  were  just  about  to  go  out  to  luncheon,  when  the 
door  buzzer  sounded. 

"A  note  for  Mr.  Kennedy,"  announced  a  man  in  a 
police  uniform,  with  a  blue  anchor  edged  with  white 
on  his  coat  sleeve. 

Craig  tore  open  the  envelope  quickly  with  his  fore- 
finger. Headed  "Harbour  Police,  Station  No.  3, 


162  The  Dream  Doctor 

Staten  Island,"  was  an  urgent  message  from  our  old 
friend  Deputy  Commissioner  O'Connor. 

"I  have  taken  personal  charge  of  a  case  here  that 
is  sufficiently  out  of  the  ordinary  to  interest  you," 
I  read  when  Kennedy  tossed  the  note  over  to  me  and 
nodded  to  the  man  from  the  harbour  squad  to  wait 
for  us.  "The  Curtis  family  wish  to  retain  a  private 
detective  to  work  in  conjunction  with  the  police  in 
investigating  the  death  of  Bertha  Curtis,  whose  body 
was  found  this  morning  in  the  wraters  of  Kill  van 
Kull." 

Kennedy  and  I  lost  no  time  in  starting  downtown 
with  the  policeman  who  had  brought  the  note. 

The  Curtises,  as  we  knew,  were  among  the  promi- 
nent families  of  Manhattan  and  I  recalled  having 
heard  that  at  one  time  Bertha  Curtis  had  been  an 
actress,  in  spite  of  the  means  and  social  position  of 
her  family,  from  whom  she  had  become  estranged  as 
a  result. 

At  the  station  of  the  harbour  police,  O'Connor  and 
another  man,  who  was  in  a  state  of  extreme  excite- 
ment, greeted,  us  almost  before  we  had  landed. 

"There  have  been  some  queer  doings  about  here," 
exclaimed  the  deputy  as  he  grasped  Kennedy's  hand, 
"but  first  of  all  let  me  introduce  Mr.  Walker  Curtis." 

In  a  lower  tone  as  we  walked  up  the  dock  O'Con- 
nor continued,  "He  is  the  brother  of  the  girl  whose 
body  the  men  in  the  launch  at  the  station  found,  in 
the  Kill  this  morning.  They  thought  at  first  that  the 
girl  had  committed  suicide,  making  it  doubly  sure 
by  jumping  into  the  water,  but  he  will  not  believe  it 
and, — well,  if  you'll  just  come  over  with  us  to  the  lo- 


The  Toxin  of  Death  163 

cal  undertaking  establishment,  I'd  like  to  haye  you 
take  a  look  at  the  body  and  see  if  your  opinion  coin- 
cides  with  mine. 

"Ordinarily,"  pursued  O'Connor,  "there  isn't  much 
romance  in  harbour  police  work  nowadays,  but  in 
this  case  some  other  elements  seem  to  be  present 
which  are  not  usually  associated  with  violent  deaths 
in  the  waters  of  the  bay,  and  I  have,  as  you  will  see, 
thought  it  necessary  to  take  personal  charge  of  the 
investigation. 

"Now,  to  shorten  the  story  as  much  as  possible, 
Kennedy,  you  know  of  course  that  the  legislature  at 
the  last  session  enacted  laws  prohibiting  the  sale  of 
such  drugs  as  opium,  morphine,  cocaine,  chloral  and 
others,  under  much  heavier  penalties  than  before. 
The  Health  authorities  not  long  ago  reported  to  us 
that  dope  was  being  sold  almost  openly,  without  or- 
ders from  physicians,  at  several  scores  of  places  and 
we  have  begun  a  crusade  for  the  enforcement  of  the 
law.  Of  course  you  know  how  prohibition  works  in 
many  places  and  how  the  law  is  beaten.  The  dope 
fiends  seem  to  be  doing  the  same  thing  with  this  law. 

"Of  course  nowadays  everybody  talks  about  a  'sys- 
tem' controlling  everything,  so  I  suppose  people 
would  say  that  there  is  a  'dope  trust.'  At  any  rate 
we  have  run  up  against  at  least  a  number  of  places 
that  seem  to  be  banded  together  in  some  way,  from 
the  lowest  down  in  Chinatown  to  one  very  swell  joint 
uptown  around  what  the  newspapers  are  calling 
'Crime  Square.'  It  is  not  that  this  place  is  pander- 
ing to  criminals  or  the  women  of  the  Tenderloin  that 
interests  us  so  much  as  that  its  patrons  are  men  and 


The  Dream  Doctor 

women  of  fashionable  society  whose  jangled  nerves 
seem  to  demand  a  strong  narcotic. 

"This  particular  place  seems  to  be  a  headquarters 
for  obtaining  them,  especially  opium  and  its  deriva- 
tives. 

"One  of  the  frequenters  of  the  place  was  this  un- 
fortunate girl,  Bertha  Curtis.  I  have  watched  her 
go  in  and  out  myself,  wild-eyed,  nervous,  mentally 
and  physically  wrecked  for  life.  Perhaps  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  persons  visit  the  place  each  day.  It 
is  run  by  a  man  known  as  'Big  Jack'  Clendenin  who 
was  once  an  actor  and,  I  believe,  met  and  fascinated 
Miss  Curtis  during  her  brief  career  on  the  stage.  He 
has  an  attendant  there,  a  Jap,  named  Nichi  Moto, 
who  is  a  perfect  enigma.  I  can't  understand  him 
on  any  reasonable  theory.  A  long  time  ago  we  raided 
the  place  and  packed  up  a  lot  of  opium,  pipes,  mate- 
rial and  other  stuff.  We  found  Clendenin  there,  this 
girl,  several  others,  and  the  Jap.  I  never  understood 
just  how  it  was  but  somehow  Clendenin  got  off  with 
a  nominal  fine  and  a  few  days  later  opened  up  again. 
We  were  watching  the  place,  getting  ready  to  raid  it 
again  and  present  such  evidence  that  Clendenia 
couldn't  possibly  beat  it,  when  all  of  a  sudden  along 
came  this — this  tragedy." 

We  had  at  last  arrived  at  the  private  establish- 
ment which  was  doing  duty  as  a  morgue.  The  be- 
draggled form  that  had  been  bandied  about  by  the 
tides  all  night  lay  covered  up  in  the  cold  damp  base- 
ment. Bertha  Curtis  had  been  a  girl  of  striking 
beauty  once.  For  a  long  time  I  gazed  at  the  swollen 
features  before  I  realised  what  it  was  that  fascinated 


The  Toxin  of  Death  165 

and  puzzled  me  about  her.  Kennedy,  however,  after 
a  casual  glance  had  arrived  at  at  least  a  part  of  her 
story. 

"That  girl,"  he  whispered  to  me  so  that  her  brother 
could  not  hear,  "has  led  a  pretty  fast  life.  Look  at 
those  nails,  yellow  and  dark.  It  isn't  a  weak  face, 
either.  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  the  whole  thing, 
the  Oriental  glamour  and  all  that,  fascinated  her  as 
much  as  the  drug." 

So  far  the  case  with  its  heartrending  tragedy  had 
all  the  earmarks  of  suicide. 


XI 

The  Opium  Joint 

O'CONNOB  drew  back  the  sheet  which  covered 
her  and  in  the  calf  of  the  leg  disclosed  an 
ugly  bullet  hole.  Ugly  as  it  was,  however,  it  was 
anything  but  dangerous  and  seemed  to  indicate  noth- 
ing as  to  the  real  cause  of  her  death.  He  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  slightly  misshapen  bullet  which  had  been 
probed  from  the  wound  and  handed  it  to  Kennedy, 
who  examined  both  the  wound  and  the  bullet  care- 
fully. It  seemed  to  be  an  ordinary  bullet  except 
that  in  the  pointed  end  were  three  or  four  little  round, 
very  shallow  wells  or  depressions  only  the  minutest 
fraction  of  an  inch  deep. 

"Very  extraordinary,"  he  remarked  slowly.  "No, 
I  don't  think  this  was  a  case  of  suicide.  Nor  was  it 
a  murder  for  money,  else  the  jewels  would  have  been 
taken." 

O'Connor  looked  approvingly  at  me.  "Exactly 
what  I  said,"  he  exclaimed.  "She  was  dead  before 
her  body  was  thrown  into  the  water." 

"No,  I  don't  agree  with  you  there,"  corrected  Craig, 
continuing  his  examination  of  the  body.  "And  yet  it 
is  not  a  case  of  drowning  exactly,  either." 

"Strangled?"  suggested  O'Connor. 

"By  some  jiu  jitsu  trick?"  I  put  in,  mindful  of  the 
queer-acting  Jap  at  Clendenin's. 

166 


The  Opium  Joint  167 

Kennedy  shook  his  head. 

"Perhaps  the  shock  of  the  bullet  wound  rendered 
her  unconscious  and  in  that  state  she  was  thrown  in," 
rentured  Walker  Curtis,  apparently  much  relieved 
that  Kennedy  coincided  with  O'Connor  in  disagree- 
ing with  the  harbour  police  as  to  the  suicide  theory. 

Kennedy  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  looked  at  the 
bullet  again.  "It  is  very  extraordinary,"  was  all  he 
replied.  "I  think  you  said  a  few  moments  ago, 
O'Connor,  that  there  had  been  some  queer  doings 
about  here.  What  did  you  mean?" 

"Well,  as  I  said,  the  work  of  the  harbour  squad 
isn't  ordinarily  very  remarkable.  Harbour  pirates 
aren't  murderous  as  a  rule  any  more.  For  the  most 
part  they  are  plain  sneak  thieves  or  bogus  junk  deal- 
ers who  work  with  dishonest  pier  watchmen  and 
crooked  canal  boat  captains  and  lighter  hands. 

"But  in  this  instance,"  continued  the  deputy,  his 
face  knitting  at  the  thought  that  he  had  to  confess 
another  mystery  to  which  he  had  no  solution,  "it  is 
something  quite  different.  You  know  that  all  along 
the  shore  on  this  side  of  the  island  are  old,  dilap- 
idated and,  some  of  them,  deserted  houses.  For  sev- 
eral days  the  residents  of  the  neighbourhood  have 
been  complaining  of  strange  occurrences  about  one 
place  in  particular  which  was  the  home  of  a  wealthy 
family  in  a  past  generation.  It  is  about  a  mile  from 
here,  facing  the  road  along  the  shore,  and  has  in  front 
of  it  and  across  the  road  the  remains  of  an  old  dock 
sticking  out  a  few  feet  into  the  water  at  high  tide. 

"Now,  as  nearly  as  any  one  can  get  the  story,  there 
seems  to  have  been  a  mysterious,  phantom  boat,  very 


168  The  Drerzn  Doctor 

swift,  without  lights,  and  with  an  engine  carefully 
muffled  down  which  has  been  coming  up  to  the  old 
dock  for  the  past  few  nights  when  the  tide  was  high 
enough.  A  light  has  been  seen  moving  on  the  dock, 
then  suddenly  extinguished,  only  to  reappear  again. 
Who  carried  it  and  why,  no  one  knows.  Any  one 
who  has  tried  to  approach  the  place  has  had  a  scare 
thrown  into  him  which  he  will  not  easily  forget.  For 
instance,  one  man  crept  up  and  though  he  did  not 
think  he  was  seen  he  was  suddenly  shot  at  from  be- 
hind a  tree.  He  felt  the  bullet  pierce  his  arm,  started 
to  run,  stumbled,  and  next  morning  woke  up  in  the 
exact  spot  on  which  he  had  fallen,  none  the  worse  for 
his  experience  except  that  he  had  a  slight  wound  that 
will  prevent  his  using  his  right  arm  for  some  time  for 
heavy  work. 

"After  each  visit  of  the  phantom  boat  there  is 
heard,  according  to  the  story  of  the  few  neighbours 
who  have  observed  it,  the  tramp  of  feet  up  the  over- 
grown stone  walk  from  the  dock  and  some  have  said 
that  they  heard  an  automobile  as  silent  and  ghostly 
as  the  boat.  We  have  been  all  through  the  weird  old 
house,  but  have  found  nothing  there,  except  enough 
loose  boards  and  shutters  to  account  for  almost  any 
noise  or  combination  of  noises.  However,  no  one  has 
said  there  was  anything  there  except  the  tramp  of 
feet  going  back  and  forth  on  the  old  pavements  out- 
side. Two  or  three  times  shots  have  been  heard,  and 
on  the  dock  where  most  of  the  alleged  mysterious 
doings  have  taken  place  we  have  found  one  very  new 
exploded  shell  of  a  cartridge." 

Craig  took  the  shell  which  O'Connor  drew  from 


The  Opium  Joint  169 

another  pocket  and  trying  to  fit  the  bullet  and  the 
cartridge  together  remarked  "both  from  a  .44,  proba- 
bly one  of  those  old-fashioned,  long-barrelled  makes." 

"There,"  concluded  O'Connor  ruefully,  "you  know 
all  we  know  of  the  thing  so  far." 

"I  may  keep  these  for  the  present?"  inquired  Ken- 
nedy, preparing  to  pocket  the  shell  and  the  bullet, 
and  from  his  very  manner  I  could  see  that  as  a  matter 
of  fact  he  already  knew  a  great  deal  more  about  the 
case  than  the  police.  "Take  us  down  to  this  old 
house  and  dock,  if  you  please." 

Over  and  over,  Craig  paced  up  and  down  the  dilap- 
idated dock,  his  keen  eyes  fastened  to  the  ground, 
seeking  some  clue,  anything  that  would  point  to  the 
marauders.  Heal  persons  they  certainly  were,  and 
not  any  ghostly  crew  of  the  bygone  days  of  harbour 
pirates,  for  there  was  every  evidence  of  Borne  one  who 
had  gone  up  and  down  the  walk  recently,  not  once 
but  many  times. 

Suddenly  Kennedy  stumbled  over  what  looked  like 
a  sardine  tin  can,  except  that  it  had  no  label  or  trace 
of  one.  It  was  lying  in  the  thick  long  matted  grass 
by  the  side  of  the  walk  as  if  it  had  tumbled  there  and 
had  been  left  unnoticed. 

Yet  there  was  nothing  so  very  remarkable  about  it 
in  itself.  Tin  cans  were  lying  all  about,  those  marks 
of  decadent  civilisation.  But  to  Craig  it  had  in- 
stantly presented  an  idea.  It  was  a  new  can.  The 
others  were  rusted. 

He  had  pried  off  the  lid  and  inside  was  a  blackish, 
viscous  mass. 

"Smoking  opium,"  Craig  said  at  last. 


170  The  Dream  Doctor 

We  retraced  our  steps  pondering  on  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  discovery. 

O'Connor  had  had  men  out  endeavouring  all  day 
to  get  a  clue  to  the  motor  car  that  had  been  men- 
tioned in  some  of  the  accounts  given  by  the  natives. 
So  far  the  best  he  had  been  able  to  find  was  a  report 
of  a  large  red  touring  car  which  crossed  from  New 
York  on  a  late  ferry.  In  it  were  a  man  and  a  girl 
as  well  as  a  chauffeur  who  wore  goggles  and  a  cap 
pulled  down  over  his  head  so  that  he  was  practically 
unrecognisable.  The  girl  might  have  been  Miss  Cur- 
tis and,  as  for  the  man,  it  might  have  been  Clendenin. 
No  one  had  bothered  much  with  them;  no  one  had 
taken  their  number;  no  one  had  paid  any  attention 
where  they  went  after  the  ferry  landed.  In  fact, 
there  would  have  been  no  significance  to  the  report 
if  it  had  not  been  learned  that  early  in  the  morning 
on  the  first  ferry  from  the  lower  end  of  the  island 
to  New  Jersey  a  large  red  touring  car  answering 
about  the  same  description  had  crossed,  with  a  single 
man  and  driver  but  no  woman. 

"I  should  like  to  watch  here  with  you  to-night, 
O'Connor,"  said  Craig  as  we  parted.  "Meet  us  here. 
In  the  meantime  I  shall  call  on  Jameson  with  his  well- 
known  newspaper  connections  in  the  white  light  dis- 
trict," here  he  gave  me  a  half  facetious  wink,  "to  see 
what  he  can  do  toward  getting  me  admitted  to  this 
gilded  palace  of  dope  up  there  on  Forty-fourth 
Street." 

After  no  little  trouble  Kennedy  and  I  discovered 
our  "hop  joint"  and  were  admitted  by  Nichi  Moto,  of 
whom  we  had  heard.  Kennedy  gave  me  a  final  in- 


The  Opium  Joint  171 

junction  to  watch  but  to  be  very  careful  not  to  seem 
to  watch. 

Nichi  Moto  with  an  eye  to  business  and  not  to  our 
absorbing  more  than  enough  to  whet  our  descriptive 
powers  quickly  conducted  us  into  a  large  room  where, 
on  single  bamboo  couches  or  bunks,  rather  tastefully 
made,  perhaps  half  a  dozen  habitue's  lay  stretched 
at  full  length  smoking  their  pipes  in  peace,  or  prepar- 
ing them  in  great  expectation  from  the  implements 
on  the  trays  before  them. 

Kennedy  relieved  me  of  the  responsibility  of  cook- 
ing the  opium  by  doing  it  for  both  of  us  and,  inci- 
dentally, dropping  a  hint  not  to  inhale  it  and  to 
breathe  as  little  of  it  as  possible.  Even  then  it  made 
me  feel  badly,  though  he  must  have  contrived  in  some 
way  to  get  even  less  of  the  stuff  than  I.  A  couple  of 
pipes,  and  Kennedy  beckoned  to  Nichi. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Clendenin?"  he  asked  familiarly. 
"I  haven't  seen  him  yet." 

The  Japanese  smiled  his  engaging  smile.  "Not 
know,"  was  all  he  said,  and  yet  I  knew  the  fellow  at 
least  knew  better  English,  if  not  more  facts. 

Kennedy  had  about  started  on  our  faking  a  third 
"pipe''  when  a  new,  unexpected  arrival  beckoned  ex- 
citedly to  Nichi.  I  could  not  catch  all  that  was  said 
but  two  words  that  I  did  catch  were  "the  boss"  and 
"hop  toy,"  the  latter  the  word  for  opium.  No  sooner 
had  the  man  disappeared  without  joining  the  smokers 
than  Nichi  seemed  to  grow  very  restless  and  anxious. 
Evidently  he  had  received  orders  to  do  something. 
He  seemed  anxious  to  close  the  place  and  get  away. 
I  thought  that  some  one  might  have  given  a  tip  that 


172  The  Dream  Doctor 

the  place  was  to  be  raided,  but  Kennedy,  who  had 
been  closer,  had  overheard  more  than  I  had  and 
among  other  things  he  had  caught  the  word,  "meet 
him  at  the  same  place." 

It  was  not  long  before  we  were  all  politely  hustled 
out. 

"At  least  we  know  this,"  commented  Kennedy,  as 
I  congratulated  myself  on  our  fortunate  escape, 
"Clendenin  was  not  there,  and  there  is  something  do- 
ing to-night,  for  he  has  sent  for  Mchi." 

We  dropped  into  our  apartment  to  freshen  up  a  bit 
against  the  long  vigil  that  we  knew  was  coming  that 
night.  To  our  surprise  Walker  Curtis  had  left  a  mes- 
sage that  he  wished  to  see  Kennedy  immediately  and 
alone,  and  although  I  was  not  present  I  give  the  sub- 
stance of  what  he  said.  It  seemed  that  he  had  not 
wished  to  tell  O'Connor  for  fear  that  it  would  get 
into  the  papers  and  cause  an  even  greater  scandal, 
but  it  had  come  to  his  knowledge  a  few  days  before 
the  tragedy  that  his  sister  was  determined  to  marry 
a  very  wealthy  Chinese  merchant,  an  importer  of  tea, 
named  Chin  Jung.  Whether  or  not  this  had  any 
bearing  on  the  case  he  did  not  know.  He  thought  it 
had,  because  for  a  long  time,  both  when  she  was  on 
the  stage  and  later,  Clendenin  had  had  a  great  influ- 
ence over  her  and  had  watched  with  a  jealous  eye  the 
advances  of  every  one  else.  Curtis  was  especially 
bitter  against  Clendenin. 

As  Kennedy  related  the  conversation  to  me  on  our 
way  over  to  Staten  Island  I  tried  to  piece  the  thing 
together,  but  like  one  of  the  famous  Chinese  puzzles, 
it  would  not  come  out.  I  had  to  admit  the  possibility 


The  Opium  Joint  173 

that  it  was  Clendenin  who  might  have  quarrelled  over 
her  attachment  to  Chin  Jung,  even  though  I  have 
never  yet  been  able  to  understand  what  the  fascina- 
tion is  that  some  Orientals  have  over  certain  Ameri- 
can girls. 

Ail  that  night  we  watched  patiently  from  a  vantage 
point  of  an  old  shed  near  both  the  house  and  the  de- 
cayed pier.  It  was  weird  in  the  extreme,  especially 
as  we  had  no  idea  what  might  happen  if  we  had  suc- 
cess and  saw  something.  But  there  was  no  reward 
for  our  patience.  Absolutely  nothing  happened.  It 
was  as  though  they  knew,  whoever  they  were,  that  we 
were  there.  During  the  hours  that  passed  O'Connor 
whiled  away  the  time  in  a  subdued  whisper  now  and 
then  in  telling  us  of  his  experiences  in  Chinatown 
which  he  was  now  engaged  in  trying  to  clean  up. 
From  Chinatown,  its  dens,  its  gamblers  and  its  tongs 
we  drifted  to  the  legitimate  business  interests  there, 
and  I,  at  least,  was  surprised  to  find  that  there  were 
some  of  the  merchants  for  whom  even  O'Connor  had 
a  great  deal  of  respect.  Kennedy  evidently  did  not 
wish  to  violate  in  any  way  the  confidence  of  Walker 
Curtis,  and  mention  of  the  name  of  Chin  Jung,  but 
by  a  judicious  question  as  to  who  the  best  men  were 
in  the  Celestial  settlement  he  did  get  a  list  of  half  a 
dozen  or  so  from  O'Connor.  Chin  Jung  was  well  up 
in  the  list.  However,  the  night  wore  away  and  still 
nothing  happened. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  morning  when  we  were 
taking  a  snatch  of  sleep  in  our  own  rooms  uptown 
that  the  telephone  began  to  ring  insistently.  Ken- 
nedy, who  was  resting,  I  verily  believe,  merely  out 


174  The  Dream  Doctor 

of  consideration  for  my  own  human  frailties,  was  at 
the  receiver  in  an  instant.  It  proved  to  be  O'Connor. 
He  had  just  gone  back  to  his  office  at  headquarters 
and  there  he  had  found  a  report  of  another  murder. 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  Kennedy,  "and  why  do  you 
connect  it  with  this  case?" 

O'Connor's  answer  must  have  been  a  poser,  judg- 
ing from  the  look  of  surprise  on  Craig's  face.  "The 
Jap — Nichi  Moto?"  he  repeated.  "And  it  is  the  same 
sort  of  non-fatal  wound,  the  same  evidence  of  as- 
phyxia, the  same  circumstances,  even  down  to  the  red 
car  reported  by  residents  in  the  neighbourhood." 

Nothing  further  happened  that  day  except  this 
thickening  of  the  plot  by  the  murder  of  the  peculiar- 
acting  Nichi.  We  saw  his  body  and  it  was  as  O'Con- 
nor said. 

"That  fellow  wasn't  on  the  level  toward  Clen- 
denin,"  Craig  mused  after  we  had  viewed  the  second 
murder  in  the  case.  "The  question  is,  who  and  what 
was  he  working  for?" 

There  was  as  yet  no  hint  of  answer,  and  our  only 
plan  was  to  watch  again  that  night.  This  time 
O'Connor,  not  knowing  where  the  lightning  would 
strike  next,  took  Craig's  suggestion  rnd  we  deter- 
mined to  spend  the  time  cruising  about  in  the  fastest 
of  the  police  motor  boats,  while  the  force  of  watchers 
along  the  entire  shore  front  of  the  city  was  quietly 
augmented  and  ordered  to  be  extra  vigilant. 

O'Connor  at  the  last  moment  had  to  withdraw  and 
let  us  go  alone,  for  the  worst,  and  not  the  unexpected, 
happened  in  his  effort  to  clean  up  Chinatown.  The 
war  between  the  old  rivals,  the  Hep  Sing  Tong  and 


The  Opium  Joint  175 

the  On  Leong  Tong,  those  ancient  societies  of  trouble- 
makers in  the  little  district,  had  broken  out  afresh 
during  the  day  and  three  Orientals  had  been  killed 
already. 

It  is  not  a  particularly  pleasant  occupation  cruis- 
ing aimlessly  up  and  down  the  harbour  in  a  fifty-foot 
police  boat,  staunch  and  fast  as  she  may  be. 

Every  hour  we  called  at  a  police  post  to  report  and 
to  keep  in  touch  with  anything  that  might  interest 
us.  It  came  at  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning 
and  of  all  places,  near  the  Battery  itself.  From  the 
front  of  a  ferry  boat  that  ran  far  down  on  the  Brook- 
lyn side,  what  looked  like  two  flashlights  gleamed 
out  over  the  water  once,  then  twice. 

"Headlights  of  an  automobile,"  remarked  Craig, 
scarcely  taking  more  notice  of  it,  for  they  might  have 
simply  been  turned  up  and  down  twice  by  a  late  re- 
turning traveller  to  test  them.  We  were  ourselves 
near  the  Brooklyn  shore.  Imagine  our  surprise  to 
see  an  answering  light  from  a  small  boat  in  the  river 
which  was  otherwise  lightless.  We  promptly  put  out 
our  own  lights  and  with  every  cylinder  working  made 
for  the  spot  where  the  light  had  flashed  up  on  the 
river.  There  was  something  there  all  right  and  we 
went  for  it. 

On  we  raced  after  the  strange  craft,  the  phantom 
that  had  scared  Staten  Island.  For  a  mile  or  so  we 
seemed  to  be  gaining,  but  one  of  our  cylinders  began 
to  miss — the  boat  turned  sharply  around  a  bend  in 
the  shore.  We  had  to  give  it  up  as  well  as  trying 
to  overtake  the  ferry  boat  going  in  the  opposite  di- 
rection. 

12 


170  The  Dream  Doctor 

Kennedy's  equanimity  in  our  apparent  defeat  sur- 
prised me.  "Oh,  it's  nothing,  Walter,"  he  said. 
"They  slipped  away  to-night,  but  I  have  found  the 
clue.  To-morrow  as  soon  as  the  Customs  House  is 
open  you  will  understand.  It  all  centres  about 
opium." 

At  least  a  large  part  of  the  secret  was  cleared,  too, 
as  a  result  of  Kennedy's  visit  to  the  Customs  House. 
After  years  of  fighting  with  the  opium  ring  on  the 
Pacific  coast,  the  ring  had  tried  to  "put  one  over'' 
on  the  revenue  officers  and  smuggle  the  drug  in 
through  New  York. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  find  the  right  man  among 
the  revenue  officers  to  talk  with.  Nor  was  Kennedy 
surprised  to  learn  that  Nichi  Moto  had  been  in  fact  a 
Japanese  detective,  a  sort  of  stool  pigeon  in  Clenden- 
in's  establishment  working  to  keep  the  government 
in  touch  with  the  latest  scheme. 

The  finding  of  the  can  of  opium  on  the  scene  of  the 
murder  of  Bertha  Curtis,  and  the  chase  after  the 
lightless  motor  boat  had  at  last  placed  Kennedy  on 
the  right  track.  With  one  of  the  revenue  officers  we 
made  a  quick  trip  to  Brooklyn  and  spent  the  morning 
inspecting  the  ships  from  South  American  ports 
docked  in  the  neighbourhood  where  the  phantom  boat 
had  disappeared. 

From  ship  to  ship  we  journeyed  until  at  last  we 
came  to  one  on  which,  down  in  the  chain  locker,  we 
found  a  false  floor  with  a  locker  under  that.  There 
was  a  compartment  six  feet  square  and  in  it  lay,  neatly 
packed,  fourteen  large  hermetically  sealed  cylinders, 
each  full  of  the  little  oblong  tins  such  as  Kennedy 


The  Opium  Joint  177 

had  picked  up  the  other  day — forty  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  the  stuff  at  one  haul,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
thousands  that  had  already  been  landed  at  one  place 
or  another. 

It  had  been  a  good  day's  work,  but  as  yet  it  had 
not  caught  the  slayer  or  cleared  up  the  mystery  of 
Bertha  Curtis.  Some  one  or  something  had  had  a 
power  over  the  girl  to  lure  her  on.  Was  it  Clen- 
denin?  The  place  in  Forty-fourth  Street,  on  inquiry, 
proved  to  be  really  closed  as  tight  as  a  drum.  Where 
was  he? 

All  the  deaths  had  been  mysterious,  were  still  mys- 
terious. Bertha  Curtis  had  carried  her  secret  with 
her  to  the  grave  to  which  she  had  been  borne,  will- 
ingly it  seemed,  in  the  red  car  with  the  unknown  com- 
panion and  the  goggled  chauffeur.  I  found  myself 
still  asking  what  possible  connection  she  could  have 
with  smuggling  opium. 

Kennedy,  however,  was  indulging  in  no  such  spec- 
ulations. It  was  enough  for  him  that  the  scene  had 
suddenly  shifted  and  in  a  most  unexpected  manner. 
I  found  him  voraciously  reading  practically  every- 
thing that  was  being  printed  in  the  papers  about  the 
revival  of  the  tong  war. 

"They  say  much  about  the  war,  but  little  about  the 
cause,"  was  his  dry  comment.  "I  wish  I  could  make 
up  my  mind  whether  it  is  due  to  the  closing  of  the 
joints  by  O'Connor,  or  the  belief  that  one  tong  is  in- 
forming on  the  other  about  opium  smuggling." 

Kennedy  passed  over  all  the  picturesque  features 
in  the  newspapers,  and  from  it  all  picked  out  the  one 
point  that  was  most  important  for  the  case  which 


178  The  Dream  Doctor 

he  was  working  to  clear  up.  One  tong  used  revolvers 
of  a  certain  make;  the  other  of  a  different  make. 
The  bullet  which  had  killed  Bertha  Curtis  and  later 
Nichi  Moto  was  from  a  pistol  like  that  of  the  Hep 
Sings. 

The  difference  in  the  makes  of  guns  seemed  at  once 
to  suggest  something  to  Kennedy  and  instead  of  mix- 
ing actively  in  the  war  of  the  highbinders  he  retired 
to  his  unfailing  laboratory,  leaving  me  to  pass  the 
time  gathering  such  information  as  I  could.  Once  I 
dropped  in  on  him  but  found  him  unsociably  sur- 
rounded by  microscopes  and  a  very  sensitive  arrange- 
ment for  taking  microphotographs.  Some  of  his  neg- 
atives were  nearly  a  foot  in  diameter,  and  might  have 
been,  for  all  I  knew,  pictures  of  the  surface  of  the 
moon. 

While  I  was  there  O'Connor  came  in.  Craig  ques- 
tioned him  about  the  war  of  the  tongs. 

"Why,"  O'Connor  cried,  almost  bubbling  over  with 
satisfaction,  "this  afternoon  I  was  waited  on  by  Chin 
Jung,  you  remember? — one  of  the  leading  merchants 
down  there.  Of  course  you  know  that  Chinatown 
doesn't  believe  in  hurting  business  and  it  seems  that 
he  and  some  of  the  others  like  him  are  afraid  that  if 
the  tong  war  is  not  hushed  up  pretty  soon  it  will  cost 
a  lot — in  money.  They  are  going  to  have  an  anniver- 
sary of  the  founding  of  the  Chinese  republic  soon  and 
of  the  Chinese  New  Year  and  they  are  afraid  that  if 
the  war  doesn't  stop  they'll  be  ruined." 

"Which  tong  does  he  belong  to?"  asked  Kennedy, 
still  scrutinising  a  photograph  through  his  lens. 

"Neither,"  replied  O'Connor.     "With  his  aid  and 


The  Opium  Joint  179 

that  of  a  Judge  of  one  of  our  courts  who  knows  the 
Chinaman  like  a  book  we  have  had  a  conference  this 
afternoon  between  the  two  tongs  and  the  truce  is  re- 
stored again  for  two  weeks." 

"Very  good,"  answered  Kennedy,  "but  it  doesn't 
catch  the  murderer  of  Bertha  Curtis  and  the  Jap. 
Where  is  Clendenin,  do  you  suppose?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  it  at  least  leaves  me  free  to 
carry  on  that  case.  What  are  all  these  pictures?'" 

"Well,"  began  Kennedy,  taking  his  glass  from  his 
eye  and  wiping  it  carefully,  "a  Paris  crime  specialist 
has  formulated  a  system  for  identifying  revolver  bul- 
lets which  is  very  like  that  of  Dr.  Bertillon  for  iden- 
tifying human  beings." 

He  picked  up  a  handful  of  the  greatly  enlarged 
photographs.  "These  are  photographs  of  bullets 
which  he  has  sent  me.  The  barrel  of  every  gun  leaves 
marks  on  the  bullet  that  are  always  the  same  for  the 
same  barrel  but  never  identical  for  two  different  bar- 
rels. In  these  big  negatives  every  detail  appears 
very  distinctly  and  it  can  be  decided  with  absolute 
certainty  whether  a  given  bullet  was  fired  from  a 
given  revolver.  Now,  using  this  same  method,  I  have 
made  similar  greatly  enlarged  photographs  of  the  two 
bullets  that  have  figured  so  far  in  this  case.  The  bul- 
let that  killed  Miss  Curtis  shows  the  same  marks  as 
that  which  killed  Nichi." 

He  picked  up  another  bunch  of  prints.  "Now," 
he  continued,  "taking  up  the  firing  pin  of  a  rifle  or 
the  hammer  of  a  revolver,  you  may  not  know  it  but 
they  are  different  in  every  case.  Even  among  the 
same  makes  they  are  different,  and  can  be  detected. 


180  The  Dream  Doctor 

"The  cartridge  in  either  a  gun  or  revolver  is  struck 
at  a  point  which  is  never  in  the  exact  centre  or  edge, 
as  the  case  may  be,  but  is  always  the  same  for  the 
same  weapon.  Now  the  end  of  the  hammer  when  ex- 
amined with  the  microscope  bears  certain  irregulari- 
ties of  marking  different  from  those  of  every  other 
gun  and  the  shell  fired  in  it  is  impressed  with  the  par- 
ticular markings  of  that  hammer,  just  as  paper  is  by 
type.  On  making  microphotographs  of  firing  pins  or 
hammers,  with  special  reference  to  the  rounded  ends 
and  also  photographs  of  the  corresponding  rounded 
depressions  in  the  primers  fired  by  them  it  is  forced 
on  any  one  that  cartridges  fired  by  each  individual 
rifle  or  pistol  can  positively  be  identified. 

"You  will  see  on  the  edge  of  the  photographs  I 
have  made  a  rough  sketch  calling  attention  to  the  'L'- 
shaped  mark  which  is  the  chief  characteristic  of  this 
hammer,  although  there  are  other  detailed  markings 
which  show  well  under  the  microscope  but  not  well 
in  a  photograph.  You  will  notice  that  the  characters 
on  the  firing  hammer  are  reversed  on  the  cartridge 
in  the  same  way  that  a  metal  type  and  the  character 
printed  by  it  are  reversed  as  regards  one  another. 
Again,  depressions  on  the  end  of  the  hammer  become 
raised  characters  on  the  cartridge,  and  raised  char- 
acters on  the  hammer  become  depressions  on  the  car* 
tridge. 

"Look  at  some  of  these  old  photographs  and  you 
will  see  that  they  differ  from  this.  They  lack  the  'I/' 
mark.  Some  have  circles,  others  a  very  different 
series  of  pits  and  elevations,  a  set  of  characters  when 
examined  and  measured  under  the  microscope  utterly 


The  Opium  Joint  181 

different  from  those  in  every  other  case.  Each  is 
unique,  in  its  pits,  lines,  circles  and  irregularities. 
The  laws  of  chance  are  as  much  against  two  of  them 
having  the  same  markings  as  they  are  against  the 
thumb  prints  of  two  human  subjects  being  identical. 
The  firing-pin  theory,  which  was  used  in  a  famous 
case  in  Maine,  is  just  as  infallible  as  the  finger-print 
theory.  In  this  case  when  we  find  the  owner  of  the 
gun  making  an  'L'  mark  we  shall  have  the  murderer." 

Something,  I  could  see,  was  working  on  O'Connor's 
mind.  "That's  all  right,"  he  interjected,  "but  you 
know  in  neither  case  was  the  victim  shot  to  death. 
They  were  asphyxiated." 

"I  was  coming  to  that,"  rejoined  Craig.  "You  re- 
call the  peculiar  marking  on  the  nose  of  those  bullets? 
They  were  what  is  known  as  narcotic  bullets,  an  in- 
vention of  a  Pittsburg  scientist.  They  have  the  prop- 
erty of  lulling  their  victims  to  almost  instant  slum- 
ber. A  slight  scratch  from  these  sleep-producing 
bullets  is  all  that  is  necessary,  as  it  was  in  the  case 
of  the  man  who  spied  on  the  queer  doings  on  Staten 
Island.  The  drug,  usually  morphia,  is  carried  in 
tiny  wells  on  the  cap  of  the  bullet,  is  absorbed  by  the 
system  and  acts  almost  instantly." 

The  door  burst  open  and  Walker  Curtis  strode  in 
excitedly.  He  seemed  surprised  to  see  us  all  there, 
hesitated,  then  motioned  to  Kennedy  that  he  wished 
to  see  him.  For  a  few  moments  they  talked  and 
finally  I  caught  the  remark  from  Kennedy,  "But,  Mr. 
Curtis,  I  must  do  it.  It  is  the  only  way." 

Curtis  gave  a  resigned  nod  and  Kennedy  turned  to 
us.  "Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "Mr.  Curtis  in  going  over 


182  The  Dream  Doctor 

the  effects  of  his  sister  has  found  a  note  from  Clen- 
denin  which  mentions  another  opium  joint  down  in 
Chinatown.  He  wished  me  to  investigate  privately, 
but  I  have  told  him  it  would  be  impossible." 

At  the  mention  of  a  den  in  the  district  he  was  clean- 
ing up  O'Connor  had  pricked  up  his  ears.  "Where 
is  it?"  he  demanded. 

Curtis  mentioned  a  number  on  Dover  Street. 

"The  Amoy  restaurant,"  ejaculated  O'Connor,  seiz- 
ing the  telephone.  A  moment  later  he  was  arrang- 
ing with  the  captain  at  the  Elizabeth  Street  station 
for  the  warrants  for  an  instant  raid. 


XII 

The  "Dope  Trust" 

AS  we  hurried  into  Chinatown  from  Chatham 
Square  we  could  see  that  the  district  was  cele- 
brating its  holidays  with  long  ropes  of  firecrackers, 
and  was  feasting  to  reed  discords  from  the  pipes  of 
its  most  famous  musicians,  and  was  gay  with  the 
hanging  out  of  many  sunflags,  red  with  an  eighteen- 
rayed  white  sun  in  the  blue  union.  Both  the  new 
tong  truce  and  the  anniversary  were  more  than  cause 
for  rejoicing. 

Hurried  though  it  was,  the  raid  on  the  Hep  Sing 
joint  had  been  carefully  prepared  by  O'Connor.  The 
house  we  were  after  was  one  of  the  oldest  of  the  rook- 
eries, with  a  gaudy  restaurant  on  the  second  floor, 
a  curio  shop  on  the  street  level,  while  in  the 
basement  all  that  was  visible  was  a  view  of  a 
huge  and  orderly  pile  of  tea  chests.  A  moment 
before  the  windows  of  the  dwellings  above  the  res- 
taurant had  been  full  of  people.  All  had  faded  away 
even  before  the  axes  began  to  swing  on  the  basement 
door-  which  had  the  appearance  of  a  storeroom  for 
the  shop  above. 

The  flimsy  outside  door  went  down  quickly.  But 
it  was  only  a  blind.  Another  door  greeted  the  raid- 
ers. The  axes  swung  noisily  and  the  crowbars  tore 
at  the  fortified,  iron-clad,  "ice  box"  door  inside. 

18? 


184  The  Dream  Doctor 

After  breaking  it  down  they  had  to  claw  their  way 
through  another  just  like  it.  The  thick  doors  and 
tea  chests  piled  up  showed  why  no  sounds  of  gambling 
and  other  practices  ever  were  heard  outside. 

Pushing  aside  a  curtain  we  were  in  the  main  room. 
The  scene  was  one  of  confusion  showing  the  hasty  de- 
parture of  the  occupants. 

Kennedy  did  not  stop  here.  Within  was  still  an- 
other room,  for  smokers,  anything  but  like  the  fash- 
ionable place  we  had  seen  uptown.  It  was  low, 
common,  disgusting.  The  odour  everywhere  was 
offensive;  everywhere  was  filth  that  should  naturally 
breed  disease.  It  was  an  inferno  reeking  with  un- 
wholesome sweat  and  still  obscured  with  dense  fumes 
of  smoke. 

Three  tiers  of  bunks  of  hardwood  were  built  along 
the  walls.  There  was  no  glamour  here;  all  was  sor- 
did. Several  Chinamen  in  various  stages  of  dazed 
indolence  were  jabbering  in  incoherent  oblivion,  a 
state  I  suppose  of  "Oriental  calm." 

There,  in  a  bunk,  lay  Clendenin.  His  slow  and 
uncertain  breathing  told  of  his  being  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  drug,  and  he  lay  on  his  back  beside  a 
"layout"  with  a  half-cooked  pill  still  in  the  bowl  of 
his  pipe. 

The  question  was  to  wake  him  up.  Craig  began 
slapping  him  with  a  wet  towel,  directing  us  how  to 
keep  him  roused.  We  walked  him  about,  up  and 
down,  dazed,  less  than  half  sensible,  dreaming,  mut- 
tering, raving. 

A  hasty  exclamation  from  O'Connor  followed  as 
he  drew  fron,  the  scant  cushions  of  the  bunk  a  lon^- 


The  "Dope  Trust"  185 

barreled  pistol,  a  .44  such  as  the  tong  leaders  used, 
the  same  make  as  had  shot  Bertha  Curtis  and  Nichi. 
Craig  seized  it  and  stuck  it  into  his  pocket. 

All  the  gamblers  had  fled,  all  except  those  too 
drugged  to  escape.  Where  they  had  gone  was  indi- 
cated by  a  door  leading  up  to  the  kitchen  of  the  res- 
taurant. Craig  did  not  stop  but  leaped  upstairs  and 
then  down  again  into  a  little  back  court  by  means  of  a 
fire-escape.  Through  a  sort  of  short  alley  we  groped 
our  way,  or  rather  through  an  intricate  maze  of  alleys 
and  a  labyrinth  of  blind  recesses.  We  were  appar- 
ently back  of  a  store  on  Pell  Street. 

It  was  the  work  of  only  a  moment  to  go  through 
another  door  and  into  another  room,  filled  with 
smoky,  dirty,  unpleasant,  fetid  air.  This  room,  too, 
seemed  to  be  piled  with  tea  chests.  Craig  opened 
one.  There  lay  piles  and  piles  of  opium  tins,  a  verit- 
able fortune  in  the  drug. 

Mysterious  pots  and  pans,  strainers,  wooden  ves- 
sels, and  testing  instruments  were  about.  The  odour 
of  opium  in  the  manufacture  was  unmistakable,  for 
smoking  opium  is  different  from  the  medicinal  drug. 
There  it  appeared  the  supplies  of  thousands  of  smok- 
ers all  over  the  country  were  stored  and  prepared.  In 
a  corner  a  mass  of  the  finished  product  lay  weltering 
in  a  basin  like  treacle.  In  another  corner  was  the 
apparatus  for  remaking  yen-shee  or  once-smoked 
opium.  This  I  felt  was  at  last  the  home  of  the  "dope 
trust,"  as  O'Connor  had  once  called  it,  the  secret 
realm  of  a  real  opium  king,  the  American  end  of  the 
rich  Shanghai  syndicate. 

A  door  opened  and  there  stood  a  Chinaman,  sto- 


186  The  Dream  Doctor 

ical,  secretive,  indifferent,  with  all  the  Oriental  cun- 
ning and  cruelty  hall-marked  on  his  face.  Yet  there 
was  a  fascination  and  air  of  Eastern  culture  about 
him  in  spite  of  that  strange  and  typical  Oriental 
depth  of  intrigue  and  cunning  that  shone  through, 
great  characteristics  of  the  East. 

No  one  said  a  word  as  Kennedy  continued  to  ran- 
sack the  place.  At  last  under  a  rubbish  heap  he 
found  a  revolver  wrapped  up  loosely  in  an  old  sweater. 
Quickly,  under  the  bright  light,  Craig  drew  Clenden- 
in's  pistol,  fitted  a  cartridge  into  it  and  fired  at  the 
wall.  Again  into  the  second  gun  he  fitted  another 
and  a  second  shot  rang  out. 

Out  of  his  pocket  came  next  the  small  magnifying 
glass  and  two  unmounted  microphotographs.  He 
bent  down  over  the  exploded  shells. 

"There  it  is,"  cried  Craig  scarcely  able  to  restrain 
himself  with  the  keenness  of  his  chase,  "there  it  is — 
the  mark  like  an  'L.'  This  cartridge  bears  the  one 
mark,  distinct,  not  possible  to  have  been  made  by  any 
other  pistol  in  the  world.  None  of  the  Hep  Sings,  all 
with  the  same  make  of  weapons,  none  of  the  gunmen 
in  their  employ,  could  duplicate  that  mark." 

"Some  bullets,"  reported  a  policeman  who  had  been 
rummaging  further  in  the  rubbish. 

"Be  careful,  man,"  cautioned  Craig.  "They  are 
doped.  Lay  them  down.  Yes,  this  is  the  same  gun 
that  fired  the  shot  at  Bertha  Curtis  and  Nichi  Moto 
— fired  narcotic  bullets  in  order  to  stop  any  one  who 
interfered  with  the  opium  smuggling,  without  killing 
the  victim." 

"What's   the   matter?"   asked   O'Connor,   arriving 


The  "Dope  Trust"  187 

breathless  from  the  gambling  room  after  hearing  the 
shots.  The  Chinaman  stood,  still  silent,  impassive. 
At  sight  of  him  O'Connor  gasped  out,  "Chin  Jung!" 

"Real  tong  leader,"  added  Craig,  "and  the  mur- 
derer of  the  white  girl  to  whom  he  was  engaged.  This 
is  the  goggled  chauffeur  of  the  red  car  that  met  the 
smuggling  boat,  and  in  which  Bertha  Curtis  rode,  un- 
suspecting, to  her  death." 

"And  Clendenin?"  asked  Walker  Curtis,  not  com- 
prehending. 

"A  tool — poor  wretch.  So  keen  had  the  hunt  for 
him  become  that  he  had  to  hide  in  the  only  safe  place, 
with  the  coolies  of  his  employer.  He  must  have  been 
in  such  abject  terror  that  he  has  almost  smoked  him- 
self to  death." 

"But  why  should  the  Chinaman  shoot  my  sister?" 
a3ked  Walker  Curtis  amazed  at  the  turn  of  events. 

"Your  sister,"  replied  Craig,  almost  reverently, 
"wrecked  though  she  was  by  the  drug,  was  at  last 
conscience  stricken  when  she  saw  the  vast  plot  to 
debauch  thousands  of  others.  It  was  from  her  that 
the  Japanese  detective  in  the  revenue  service  got  his 
information — and  both  of  them  have  paid  the  price. 
But  they  have  smashed  the  new  opium  ring — we  have 
captured  the  ring-leaders  of  the  gang." 

Out  of  the  maze  of  streets,  on  Chatham  Square 
again,  we  lost  no  time  in  mounting  to  the  safety  of 
the  elevated  station  before  some  murderous  tong  mem- 
ber might  seek  revenge  on  us. 

The  celebration  in  Chinatown  was  stilled.  It  was 
as  though  the  nerves  of  the  place  had  been  paralysed 
by  our  sudden,  sharp  blow. 


188  The  Dream  Doctor 

A  downtown  train  took  me  to  the  office  to  write 
a  "beat,"  for  the  Star  always  made  a  special  feature 
of  the  picturesque  in  Chinatown  news.  Kennedy 
went  uptown. 

Except  for  a  few  moments  in  the  morning,  I  did 
not  see  Kennedy  again  until  the  following  afternoon, 
for  the  tong  war  proved  to  be  such  an  interesting 
feature  that  I  had  to  help  lay  out  and  direct  the  as- 
signments covering  its  various  details. 

I  managed  to  get  away  again  as  soon  as  possible, 
however,  for  I  knew  that  it  would  not  be  long  before 
some  one  else  in  trouble  would  commandeer  Kennedy 
to  untangle  a  mystery,  and  I  wanted  to  be  on  the  spot 
when  it  started. 

Sure  enough,  it  turned  out  that  I  was  right. 
Seated  with  him  in  our  living  room,  when  I  came  in 
from  my  hasty  journey  uptown  in  the  subway,  war* 
a  man,  tall,  thick-set,  with  a  crop  of  closely  curling 
dark  hair,  a  sharp,  pointed  nose,  ferret  eyes,  and  a 
reddish  moustache,  curled  at  the  ends.  I  had  no  dif- 
ficulty in  deciding  what  he  was,  if  not  who  he  was. 
He  was  the  typical  detective  who,  for  the  very  reason 
that  he  looked  the  part,  destroyed  much  of  his  own 
usefulness. 

"We  have  lost  so  much  lately  at  Trimble's,"  he  was 
saying,  "that  it  is  long  past  the  stage  of  being  merely 
interesting.  It  is  downright  serious — for  me,  at 
least.  I've  got  to  make  good  or  lose  my  job.  And 
I'm  up  against  one  of  the  cleverest  shoplifters  that 
ever  entered  a  department-store,  apparently.  Only 
Heaven  knows  how  much  she  has  got  away  with  in 
various  departments  so  far,  but  when  it  comes  to  lift- 


The  "Dope  Trust"  189 

ing  valuable  things  like  pieces  of  jewelry  which  run 
into  the  thousands,  that  is  too  much." 

At  the  mention  of  the  name  of  the  big  Trimble  store 
I  had  recognised  at  once  what  the  man  was,  and  it 
did  not  need  Kennedy's  rapid-fire  introduction  of 
Michael  Donnelly  to  tell  me  that  he  was  a  depart- 
ment store  detective. 

"Have  you  no  clue,  no  suspicions?"  inquired  Ken- 
nedy. 

"Well,  yes,  suspicions,"  measured  Donnelly  slowly. 
"For  instance,  one  day  not  long  ago  a  beautifully 
dressed  and  refined-looking  woman  called  at  the  jew- 
ellery department  and  asked  to  see  a  diamond  neck- 
lace which  we  had  just  imported  from  Paris.  She 
seemed  to  admire  it  very  much,  studied  it,  tried  it 
on,  but  finally  went  away  without  making  up  her 
mind.  A  couple  of  days  later  she  returned  and  asked 
to  see  it  again.  This  time  there  happened  to  be  an- 
other woman  beside  her  who  was  looking  at  some  pen- 
dants. The  two  fell  to  talking  about  the  necklace, 
according  to  the  best  recollection  of  the  clerk,  and  the 
second  woman  began  to  examine  it  critically.  Again 
the  prospective  buyer  went  away.  But  this  time  after 
she  had  gone,  and  when  he  was  putting  the  things 
back  into  the  safe,  the  clerk  examined  the  necklace, 
thinking  that  perhaps  a  flaw  had  been  discovered  in 
it  which  had  decided  the  woman  against  it.  It  was 
a  replica  in  paste;  probably  substituted  by  one  of 
these  clever  and  smartly  dressed  women  for  the  real 
necklace." 

Before  Craig  had  a  chance  to  put  another  question, 
the  buzzer  on  our  door  sounded,  and  I  admitted  a 


190  The  Dream  Doctor 

dapper,  soft-spoken  man  of  middle  size,  who  might 
have  been  a  travelling  salesman  or  a  bookkeeper.  He 
pulled  a  card  from  his  case  and  stood  facing  us,  evi- 
dently in  doubt  how  to  proceed. 

"Professor  Kennedy?"  he  asked  at  length,  balanc- 
ing the  pasteboard  between  his  fingers. 

"Yes,"  answered  Craig.     "What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"I  am  from  Shorham,  the  Fifth  Avenue  jeweller, 
you  know,"  he  began  brusquely,  as  he  handed  the  card 
to  Kennedy.  "I  thought  I'd  drop  in  to  consult  you 
about  a  peculiar  thing  that  happened  at  the  store  re- 
cently, but  if  you  are  engaged,  I  can  wait.  You  see, 
we  had  on  exhibition  a  very  handsome  pearl  dog- 
collar,  and  a  few  days  ago  two  women  came  to — " 

"Say,"  interrupted  Kennedy,  glancing  from  the 
card  to  the  face  of  Joseph  Bentley,  and  then  at  Don- 
nelly. "What  is  this — a  gathering  of  the  clans? 
There  seems  to  be  an  epidemic  of  shoplifting.  How 
much  were  you  stung  for?" 

"About  twenty  thousand  altogether,"  replied  Bent- 
ley  with  rueful  frankness.  "Why?  Has  some  one 
else  been  victimised,  too?" 


XIII 

The  Kleptomaniac 

QUICKLY  Kennedy  outlined,  with  Donnelly's 
permission,  the  story  we  had  just  heard.  The 
two  store  detectives  saw  the  humour  of  the  situation, 
as  well  as  the  seriousness  of  it,  and  fell  to  comparing 
notes. 

"The  professional  as  well  as  the  amateur  shop- 
lifter has  always  presented  to  me  an  interesting  phase 
of  criminality,"  remarked  Kennedy  tentatively,  dur- 
ing a  lull  in  their  mutual  commiseration.  "With 
thousands  of  dollars'  worth  of  goods  lying  unpro- 
tected on  the  counters,  it  is  really  no  wonder  that 
some  are  tempted  to  reach  out  and  take  what  they 
want." 

"Yes,"  explained  Donnelly,  "the  shop-lifter  is  the 
department-store's  greatest  unsolved  problem.  Why, 
sir,  she  gets  more  plunder  in  a  year  than  the  burglar. 
She's  costing  the  stores  over  two  million  dollars. 
And  she  is  at  her  busiest  just  now  with  the  season's 
shopping  in  full  swing.  It's  the  price  the  stores  have 
to  pay  for  displaying  their  goods,  but  we  have  to  do 
it,  and  we  are  at  the  mercy  of  the  thieves.  I  don't 
mean  by  that  the  occasional  shoplifter  who,  when  she 
gets  caught,  confesses,  cries,  pleads,  and  begs  to  re- 
turn the  stolen  article.  They  often  get  off.  It  is  the 
regulars  who  get  the  two  million,  those  known  to  the 

191 
13 


192  The  Dream  Doctor 

police,  whose  pictures  are,  many  of  them,  in  the 
Kogues'  Gallery,  whose  careers  and  haunts  are  known 
to  every  probation  officer.  They  are  getting  away 
with  loot  that  means  for  them  a  sumptuous  living." 

"Of  course  we  are  not  up  against  the  same  sort  of 
swindlers  that  you  are,"  put  in  Bentley,  "but  let  me 
tell  you  that  when  the  big  jewelers  do  get  up  against 
anything  of  the  sort  they  are  up  against  it  hard." 

"Have  you  any  idea  who  it  could  be?"  asked  Ken- 
nedy, who  had  been  following  the  discussion  keenly. 

"Well,  some  idea,"  spoke  up  Donnelly.  "From 
what  Bentley  says  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  to  find  that 
it  was  the  same  person  in  both  cases.  Of  course  you 
know  how  rushed  all  the  stores  are  just  now.  It  is 
much  easier  for  these  light-fingered  individuals  to 
operate  during  the  rush  than  at  any  other  time.  In 
the  summer,  for  instance,  there  is  almost  no  shop- 
lifting at  all.  I  thought  that  perhaps  we  could  dis- 
cover this  particular  shoplifter  by  ordinary  means, 
that  perhaps  some  of  the  clerks  in  the  jewellery  de- 
partment might  be  able  to  identify  her.  We  found 
one  who  said  that  he  thought  he  might  recognise  one 
of  the  women  if  he  saw  her  again.  Perhaps  you  did 
not  know  that  we  have  our  own  little  rogues'  gallery 
in  most  of  the  big  department-stores.  But  there 
didn't  happen  to  be  anything  there  that  he  recognised. 
So  I  took  him  down  to  Police  Headquarters.  Through 
plate  after  plate  of  pictures  among  the  shoplifters 
in  the  regular  Kogues'  Gallery  the  clerk  went.  At 
last  he  came  to  one  picture  that  caused  him  to  stop. 
'That  is  one  of  the  women  I  saw  in  the  store  that 
day/  he  said.  'I'm  sure  of  it.' " 


The  Kleptomaniac  193 

Donnelly  produced  a  copy  of  the  Bertillon  picture. 

"What?"  exclaimed  Bentley,  as  he  glanced  at  it 
and  then  at  the  name  and  history  on  the  back.  "An- 
nie Grayson?  Why,  she  is  known  as  the  queen  of 
shoplifters.  She  has  operated  from  Christie's  in 
London  to  the  little  curio-shops  of  San  Francisco. 
She  has  worked  under  a  dozen  aliases  and  has  the  art 
of  alibi  down  to  perfection.  Oh,  I've  heard  of  her 
many  times  before.  I  wonder  if  she  really  is  the  per- 
son we're  looking  for.  They  say  that  Annie  Grayson 
has  forgotten  more  about  shoplifting  than  the  others 
will  ever  know." 

"Yes,"  continued  Donnelly,  "and  here's  the  queer 
part  of  it.  The  clerk  was  ready  to  swear  that  he  had 
seen  the  woman  in  the  store  at  some  time  or  other, 
but  whether  she  had  been  near  the  counter  where  the 
necklace  was  displayed  was  another  matter.  He 
wasn't  so  sure  about  that." 

"Then  how  did  she  get  it?"  I  asked,  much  inter- 
ested. 

"I  don't  say  that  she  did  get  it,"  cautioned  Don- 
nelly. "I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  That  is 
why  I  am  here  consulting  Professor  Kennedy." 

"Then  who  did  get  it,  do  you  think?"  I  demanded. 

"We  have  a  great  deal  of  very  conflicting  testimony 
from  the  various  clerks,"  Donnelly  continued. 
"Among  those  who  are  known  to  have  visited  the  de- 
partment and  to  have  seen  the  necklace  is  another 
woman,  of  an  entirely  different  character,  well  known 
in  the  city."  He  glanced  sharply  at  us,  as  if  to  im- 
press us  with  what  he  was  about  to  say,  then  he 
leaned  over  and  almost  whispered  the  name.  "As 


194  The  Dream  Doctor 

nearly  as  I  can  gather  out  of  the  mass  of  evidence, 
Mrs.  William  Willoughby,  the  wife  of  the  broker 
down  in  Wall  Street,  was  the  last  person  who  was 
seen  looking  at  the  diamonds." 

The  mere  breath  of  such  a  suspicion  would  have 
been  enough,  without  his  stage-whisper  method  of 
imparting  the  information.  I  felt  that  it  was  no  won- 
der that,  having  even  a  suspicion  of  this  sort,  he 
should  be  in  doubt  how  to  go  ahead  and  should  wish 
Kennedy's  advice.  Ella  Willoughby,  besides  being 
the  wife  of  one  of  the  best  known  operators  in  high- 
class  stocks  and  bonds,  was  well  known  in  the  society 
columns  of  the  newspapers.  She  lived  in  Glenclair, 
where  she  was  a  leader  of  the  smarter  set  at  both  the 
church  and  the  country  club.  The  group  who  pre- 
served this  neat  balance  between  higher  things  and 
the  world,  the  flesh  and  the  devil,  I  knew  to  be  a  very 
exclusive  group,  which,  under  the  calm  suburban  sur- 
face, led  a  sufficiently  rapid  life.  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
in  addition  to  being  a  leader,  was  a  very  striking 
woman  and  a  beautiful  dresser,  who  set  a  fast  pace 
for  the  semi-millionaires  who  composed  the  group. 

Here  indeed  was  a  puzzle  at  the  very  start  of  the 
case.  It  was  in  all  probability  Mrs.  Willoughby  who 
had  looked  at  the  jewels  in  both  cases.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  was  Annie  Grayson  who  had  been  seen  on 
at  least  one  occasion,  yet  apparently  had  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  missing  jewels,  at  least  not 
so  far  as  any  tangible  evidence  yet  showed.  More 
than  that,  Donnelly  vouchsafed  the  information  that 
he  had  gone  further  and  that  some  of  the  men  work- 


The  Kleptomaniac  195 

ing  under  him  had  endeavoured  to  follow  the  move- 
ments of  the  two  women  and  had  found  what  looked 
to  be  a  curious  crossing  of  trails.  Both  of  them,  he 
had  found,  had  been  in  the  habit  of  visiting,  while 
shopping,  the  same  little  tea-room  on  Thirty-third 
Street,  though  no  one  had  ever  seen  them  together 
there,  and  the  coincidence  might  be  accounted  for 
by  the  fact  that  many  Glenclair  ladies  on  shopping 
expeditions  made  this  tea-room  a  sort  of  rendezvous. 
By  inquiring  about  among  his  own  fraternity  Don- 
nelly had  found  that  other  stores  also  had  reported 
losses  recently,  mostly  of  diamonds  and  pearls,  both 
black  and  white. 

Kennedy  had  been  pondering  the  situation  for 
some  time,  scarcely  uttering  a  word.  Both  detectives 
wrere  now  growing  restless,  waiting  for  him  to  say 
something.  AJS  for  me,  I  knew  that  if  anything  were 
said  or  done  it  would  be  in  Kennedy's  own  good  time. 
I  had  learned  to  have  implicit  faith  and  confidence 
in  him,  for  I  doubt  if  Craig  could  have  been  placed 
in  a  situation  where  he  would  not  know  just  what 
to  do  after  he  had  looked  over  the  ground. 

At  length  he  leisurely  reached  across  the  table  for 
the  suburban  telephone  book,  turned  the  pages 
quickly,  snapped  it  shut,  and  observed  wearily  and, 
as  it  seemed,  irrelevantly:  "The  same  old  trouble 
again  about  accurate  testimony.  I  doubt  whether  if 
I  should  suddenly  pull  a  revolver  and  shoot  Jame- 
son, either  of  you  two  men  could  give  a  strictly  ac- 
curate account  of  just  what  happened." 

No  one  said  anything,  as  he  raised  his  hands  from 


196  The  Dream  Doctor 

his  habitual  thinking  posture  with  finger-tips  to- 
gether, placed  both  hands  back  of  his  head,  and 
leaned  back  facing  us  squarely. 

"The  first  step,"  he  said  slowly,  "must  be  to  ar- 
range a  'plant.'  As  nearly  as  I  can  make  out  the 
shoplifters  or  shoplifter,  whichever  it  may  prove  to 
be,  have  no  hint  that  any  one  is  watching  them  yet. 
Now,  Donnelly,  it  is  still  very  early.  I  want  you  to 
telephone  around  to  the  newspapers,  and  either  in  the 
Trimble  advertisements  or  in  the  news  columns  have 
it  announced  that  your  jewellery  department  has  on 
exhibition  a  new  and  special  importation  of  South 
African  stones  among  which  is  one — let  me  see,  let's 
call  it  the  'Kimberley  Queen.'  That  will  sound  at- 
tractive. In  the  meantime  find  the  largest  and  most 
perfect  paste  jewel  in  town  and  have  it  fixed  up  for 
exhibition  and  labelled  the  Kimberley  Queen.  Give 
it  a  history  if  you  can ;  anything  to  attract  attention. 
I'll  see  you  in  the  morning.  Good-night,  and  thank 
you  for  coming  to  me  with  this  case." 

It  was  quite  late,  but  Kennedy,  now  thoroughly  in- 
terested in  following  the  chase,  had  no  intention  of 
waiting  until  the  morrow  before  taking  action  on  his 
own  account.  In  fact  he  was  just  beginning  the 
evening's  work  by  sending  Donnelly  off  to  arrange 
the  "plant."  No  less  interested  in  the  case  than  him- 
self, I  needed  no  second  invitation,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes we  were  headed  from  our  rooms  toward  the  lab- 
oratory, where  Kennedy  had  apparatus  to  meet  al- 
most any  conceivable  emergency.  From  a  shelf  in 
the  corner  he  took  down  an  oblong  oak  box,  perhaps 
eighteen  inches  in  length,  in  the  front  of  which  was 


The  Kleptomaniac  197 

set  a  circular  metal  disk  with  a  sort  of  pointer  and 
dial.  He  lifted  the  lid  of  the  box,  and  inside  I  could 
see  two  shiny  caps  which  in  turn  he  lifted,  disclosing 
what  looked  like  two  good-sized  spools  of  wire.  Ap- 
parently satisfied  with  his  scrutiny,  he  snapped  the 
lid  shut  and  wrapped  up  the  box  carefully,  consign- 
ing it  to  my  care,  while  he  hunted  some  copper  wire. 

From  long  experience  with  Kennedy  I  knew  bet- 
ter than  to  ask  what  he  had  in  mind  to  do.  It  was 
enough  to  know  that  he  had  already,  in  those  few 
minutes  of  apparent  dreaming  while  Donnelly  and 
Bentley  were  fidgeting  for  words,  mapped  out  a  com- 
plete course  of  action. 

We  bent  our  steps  toward  the  under-river  tube, 
which  carried  a  few  late  travellers  to  the  railioad 
terminal  where  Kennedy  purchased  tickets  for  Glen- 
clair.  I  noticed  that  the  conductor  on  the  suburban 
train  eyed  us  rather  suspiciously  as  though  the  mere 
fact  that  we  were  not  travelling  with  commutation 
tickets  at  such  an  hour  constituted  an  offence.  Al- 
though I  did  not  yet  know  the  precise  nature  of  our 
adventure,  I  remembered  with  some  misgiving  that 
I  had  read  of  police  dogs  in  Glenclair  which  were 
uncomfortably  familiar  with  strangers  carrying  bun- 
dles. However,  we  got  along  all  right,  perhaps  be- 
cause the  dogs  knew  that  in  a  town  of  commuters 
every  one  was  privileged  to  carry  a  bundle. 

"If  the  Willoughbys  had  been  on  a  party  line,"  re- 
marked Craig  as  we  strode  up  Woodridge  Avenue 
trying  to  look  as  if  it  was  familiar  to  us,  "we  might 
have  arranged  this  thing  by  stratagem.  As  it  is,  we 
shall  have  to  resort  to  another  method,  and  perhaps 


198  The  Dream  Doctor 

better,  since  we  shall  have  to  take  no  one  into  our 
confidence." 

The  avenue  was  indeed  a  fine  thoroughfare,  lined 
on  both  sides  with  large  and  often  imposing  mansions, 
surrounded  with  trees  and  shrubbery,  which  served 
somewhat  to  screen  them.  We  came  at  last  to  the 
iWilloughby  house,  a  sizable  colonial  residence  set  up 
on  a  hill.  It  was  dark,  except  for  one  dim  light  in 
an  upper  story.  In  the  shadow  of  the  hedge,  Craig 
silently  vaulted  the  low  fence  and  slipped  up  the  ter- 
races, as  noiselessly  as  an  Indian,  scarcely  crackling 
a  twig  or  rustling  a  dead  leaf  on  the  ground.  He 
paused  as  he  came  to  a  wing  on  the  right  of  the  house. 

I  had  followed  more  laboriously,  carrying  the  box 
and  noting  that  he  was  not  looking  so  much  at  the 
house  as  at  the  sky,  apparently.  It  did  not  take  long 
to  fathom  what  he  was  after.  It  was  not  a  star-gaz- 
ing expedition;  he  was  following  the  telephone  wire 
that  ran  in  from  the  street  to  the  corner  of  the  house 
near  which  we  were  now  standing.  A  moment's  in- 
spection showed  him  where  the  wire  was  led  down 
on  the  outside  and  entered  through  the  top  of  a  win- 
dow. 

Quickly  he  worked,  though  in  a  rather  awkward 
position,  attaching  two  wires  carefully  to  the  tele- 
phone wires.  Next  he  relieved  me  of  the  oak  box 
with  its  strange  contents,  and  placed  it  under  the 
porch  where  it  was  completely  hidden  by  some  lattice- 
work which  extended  down  to  the  ground  on  this  side. 
Then  he  attached  the  new  wires  from  the  telephone 
to  it  and  hid  the  connecting  wires  as  best  he  could 
behind  the  swaying  runners  of  a  vine.  At  last,  when 


The  Kleptomaniac  199 

he  had  finished  to  his  satisfaction,  we  retraced  our 
steps,  to  find  that  our  only  chance  of  getting  out  of 
town  that  night  was  by  trolley  that  landed  us,  after 
many  changes,  in  our  apartment  in  New  York,  thor- 
oughly convinced  of  the  disadvantages  of  suburban 
detective  work. 

Nevertheless  the  next  day  found  us  out  sleuthing 
about  Glenclair,  this  time  in  a  more  pleasant  r61e. 
We  had  a  newspaper  friend  or  two  out  there  who 
was  willing  to  introduce  us  about  without  asking  too 
many  questions,  Kennedy,  of  course,  insisted  on  be- 
ginning at  the  very  headquarters  of  gossip,  the  coun- 
try club. 

We  spent  several  enjoyable  hours  about  the  town, 
picking  up  a  good  deal  of  miscellaneous  and  useless 
information.  It  was,  however,  as  Kennedy  had  sus- 
pected. Annie  Grayson  had  taken  up  her  residence 
in  an  artistic  little  house  on  one  of  the  best  side  streets 
of  the  town.  But  her  name  was  no  longer  Annie 
Grayson.  She  was  Mrs.  Maud  Emery,  a  dashing 
young  widow  of  some  means,  living  in  a  very  quiet 
but  altogether  comfortable  style,  cutting  quite  a  fig- 
ure in  the  exclusive  suburban  community,  a  leading 
member  of  the  church  circle,  an  officer  of  the  Civic 
League,  prominent  in  the  women's  club,  and  popular 
with  those  to  whom  the  established  order  of  things 
was  so  perfect  that  the  only  new  bulwark  of  their 
rights  was  an  anti-suffrage  society.  In  fact,  every 
one  was  talking  of  the  valuable  social  acquisition  in 
the  person  of  this  attractive  young  woman  who  en- 
tertained lavishly  and  was  bracing  up  an  otherwise 
drooping  season.  No  one  knew  much  about  her,  but 


200  The  Dream  Doctor 

then,  that  was  not  necessary.  It  was  enough  to  ac- 
cept one  whose  opinions  and  actions  were  not  sub- 
versive of  the  social  order  in  any  way. 

The  Willoughbys,  of  course,  were  among  the  most 
prominent  people  in  the  town.  William  Willoughby 
was  head  of  the  firm  of  Willoughby  &  Walton,  and  it 
was  the  general  opinion  that  Mrs.  Willoughby  was 
the  head  of  the  firm  of  Ella  &  William  Willoughby. 
The  Willoughbys  were  good  mixers,  and  were  spoken 
well  of  even  by  the  set  who  occupied  the  social 
stratum  just  one  degree  below  that  in  which  they 
themselves  moved.  In  fact,  when  Mrs.  Willoughby 
had  been  severely  injured  in  an  automobile  accident 
during  the  previous  summer  Glenclair  had  shown  real 
solicitude  for  her  and  had  forgotten  a  good  deal  of 
its  artificiality  in  genuine  human  interest. 

Kennedy  was  impatiently  waiting  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  recover  the  box  which  he  had  left  under  the 
Willoughby  porch.  Several  times  we  walked  past 
the  house,  but  it  was  not  until  nightfall  that  he  con- 
sidered it  wise  to  make  the  recovery.  Again  we 
slipped  silently  up  the  terraces.  It  was  the  work  of 
only  a  moment  to  cut  the  wires,  and  in  triumph  Craig 
bore  off  the  precious  oak  box  and  its  batteries. 

He  said  little  on  our  journey  back  to  the  city,  but 
the  moment  we  had  reached  the  laboratory  he  set  the 
box  on  a  table  with  an  attachment  which  seemed  to 
be  controlled  by  pedals  operated  by  the  feet. 

"Walter,"  he  explained,  holding  what  looked  like 
an  earpiece  in  his  hand,  "this  is  another  of  those  new 
little  instruments  that  scientific  detectives  to-day  are 
using.  A  poet  might  write  a  clever  little  verse  en- 


The  Kleptomaniac  201 

titled,  'The  telegraphone'll  get  you,  if  you  don't  watch, 
out.'  This  is  the  latest  improved  telegraphone,  a  lit- 
tle electromagnetic  wizard  in  a  box,  which  we  detec- 
tives are  now  using  to  take  down  and  'can'  telephone 
conversations  and  other  records.  It  is  based  on  an 
entirely  new  principle  in  every  way  different  from 
the  phonograph.  It  was  discovered  by  an  inventor 
several  years  ago,  while  experimenting  in  tele- 
phony. 

"There  are  no  disks  or  cylinders  of  wax,  as  in  the 
phonograph,  but  two  large  spools  of  extremely  fine 
steel  wire.  The  record  is  not  made  mechanically  on 
a  cylinder,  but  electromagnetically  on  this  wire. 
Small  portions  of  magnetism  are  imparted  to  frac- 
tions of  the  steel  wire  as  it  passes  between  two  carbon 
electric  magnets.  Each  impression  represents  a 
sound  wave.  There  is  no  apparent  difference  in  the 
wire,  no  surface  abrasion  or  other  change,  yet  each 
particle  of  steel  undergoes  an  electromagnetic  trans- 
formation by  which  the  sound  is  indelibly  imprinted 
on  it  until  it  is  wiped  out  by  the  erasing  magnet. 
There  are  no  cylinders  to  be  shaved ;  all  that  is  needed 
to  use  the  wire  again  is  to  pass  a  magnet  over  it,  auto- 
matically erasing  any  previous  record  that  you  do  not 
wish  to  preserve.  You  can  dictate  into  it,  or,  with 
this  plug  in,  you  can  record  a  telephone  conversation 
on  it.  Even  rust  or  other  deterioration  of  the  steel 
wire  by  time  will  not  affect  this  electromagnetic  reg- 
istry of  sound.  It  can  be  read  as  long  as  steel  will 
last.  It  is  as  effective  for  long  distances  as  for  short, 
and  there  is  wire  enough  on  one  of  these  spools  for 
thirty  minutes  of  uninterrupted  record." 


202  The  Dream  Doctor 

Craig  continued  to  tinker  tantalisingly  with  the 
machine. 

"The  principle  on  which  it  is  based,"  he  added,  "is 
that  a  mass  of  tempered  steel  may  be  impressed  with 
and  will  retain  magnetic  fluxes  varying  in  density  and 
in  sign  in  adjacent  portions  of  its  mass.  There  are 
no  indentations  on  the  wire  or  the  steel  disk.  In- 
stead there  is  a  deposit  of  magnetic  impulse  on  the 
wire,  which  is  made  by  connecting  up  an  ordinary 
telephone  transmitter  with  the  electromagnets  and 
talking  through  the  coil.  The  disturbance  set  up  in 
the  coils  by  the  vibration  of  the  diaphragm  of  the 
transmitter  causes  a  deposit  of  magnetic  impulse 
on  the  wire,  the  coils  being  connected  with  dry 
batteries.  When  the  wire  is  again  run  past  these 
coils,  with  a  receiver  such  as  I  have  here  in  circuit 
with  the  coils,  a  light  vibration  is  set  up  in  the 
receiver  diaphragm  which  reproduces  the  sound  of 
speech." 

He  turned  a  switch  and  placed  an  ear-piece  over 
his  head,  giving  me  another  connected  with  it.  We 
listened  eagerly.  There  were  no  foreign  noises  in  the 
machine,  no  grating  or  thumping  sounds,  as  he  con- 
trolled the  running  off  of  the  steel  wire  by  means  of 
a  foot-pedal. 

We  were  listening  to  everything  that  had  been  said 
over  the  Willoughby  telephone  during  the  day.  Sev- 
eral local  calls  to  tradesmen  came  first,  and  these 
we  passed  over  quickly.  Finally  we  heard  the  fol- 
lowing conversation: 

"Hello.  Is  that  you,  Ella?  Yes,  this  is  Maud. 
Good-morning.  How  do  you  feel  to-day?" 


The  Kleptomaniac  203 

"Good-morning,  Maud.  I  don't  feel  very  well.  I 
have  a  splitting  headache." 

"Oh,  that's  too  bad,  dear.  What  are  you  doing  for 
it?" 

"Nothing — yet.  If  it  doesn't  get  bettor  I  shall  have 
Mr.  Willoughby  call  up  Dr.  Guthrie." 

"Oh,  I  hope  it  gets  better  soon.  You  poor  crea- 
ture, don't  you  think  a  little  trip  into  town  might 
make  you  feel  better?  Had  you  thought  of  going 
to-day?" 

"Why,  no.  I  hadn't  thought  of  going  in.  Are  you 
going?" 

"Did  you  see  the  Trimble  ad.  in  the  morning 
paper?" 

"No,  I  didn't  see  the  papers  this  morning.  My 
head  felt  too  bad." 

"Well,  just  glance  at  it.  It  will  interest  you. 
They  have  the  Kimberley  Queen,  the  great  new  South 
African  diamond  on  exhibition  there." 

"They  have?  I  never  heard  of  it  before,  but  isn't 
that  interesting.  I  certainly  would  like  to  see  it. 
Have  you  ever  seen  it?" 

"No,  but  I  have  made  up  my  mind  not  to  miss  a 
sight  of  it.  They  say  it  is  wonderful.  You'd  better 
come  along.  I  may  have  something  interesting  to 
tell  you,  too." 

"Well,  I  believe  I  will  go.  Thank  you,  Maud,  for 
suggesting  it.  Perhaps  the  little  change  will  make 
me  feel  better.  What  train  are  you  going  to  take? 
The  ten-two?  All  right,  I'll  try  to  meet  you  at  the 
station.  Good-bye,  Maud." 

"Good-bye,  Ella." 


204  The  Dream  Doctor 

Craig  stopped  the  machine,  ran  it  back  again  and 
repeated  the  record.  "So,"  he  commented  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  repetition,  "the  'plant'  has  taken  root. 
Annie  Grayson  has  bitten  at  the  bait." 

A  few  other  local  calls  and  a  long-distance  call  from 
Mr.  Willoughby  cut  short  by  his  not  finding  his  wife 
at  home  followed.  Then  there  seemed  to  have  been 
nothing  more  until  after  dinner.  It  was  a  call  by 
Mr.  Willoughby  himself  that  now  interested  us. 

"Hello!  hello!  Is  that  you,  Dr.  Guthrie?  Well, 
Doctor,  this  is  Mr.  Willoughby  talking.  I'd  like  to 
make  an  appointment  for  my  wife  to-morrow." 

"Why,  what's  the  trouble,  Mr.  Willoughby?  Noth- 
ing serious,  I  hope." 

"Oh,  no,  I  guess  not.  But  then  I  want  to  be  sure, 
and  I  guess  you  can  fix  her  up  all  right.  She  com- 
plains of  not  being  able  to  sleep  and  has  been  having 
pretty  bad  headaches  now  and  then." 

"Is  that  so?  Well,  that's  too  bad.  These  women 
and  their  headaches — even  as  a  doctor  they  puzzle 
me.  They  often  go  away  as  suddenly  as  they  come. 
However,  it  will  do  no  harm  to  see  me." 

"And  then  she  complains  of  noises  in  her  ears, 
seems  to  hear  things,  though  as  far  as  I  can  make 
out,  there  is  nothing — at  least  nothing  that  I  hear." 

"Um-m,  hallucinations  in  hearing,  I  suppose.  Any 
dizziness?" 

"Why,  yes,  a  little  once  in  a  while." 

"How  is  she  now?" 

"Well,  she's  been  into  town  this  afternoon  and  is 
pretty  tired,  but  she  says  she  feels  a  little  better  for 
the  excitement  of  the  trip." 


The  Kleptomaniac  205 

"W&1,  let  me  see.  I've  got  to  come  down  Wood- 
ridge  Avenue  to  see  a  patient  in  a  few  minutes  any- 
how. Suppose  I  just  drop  off  at  your  place?" 

"That  will  be  fine.  You  don't  think  it  is  anything 
serious,  do  you,  Doctor?" 

"Oh,  no.  Probably  it's  her  nerves.  Perhaps  a  lit- 
tle rest  would  do  her  good.  We'll  see." 

The  telegraphone  stopped,  and  that  seemed  to  be 
the  last  conversation  recorded.  So  far  we  had 
learned  nothing  very  startling,  I  thought,  and  was 
just  a  little  disappointed.  Kennedy  seemed  well  sat- 
isfied, however. 

Our  own  telephone  rang,  and  it  proved  to  be  Don- 
nelly on  the  wire.  He  had  been  trying  to  get  Kennedy 
all  day,  in  order  to  report  that  at  various  times  his 
men  at  Trimble's  had  observed  Mrs.  Willoughby  and 
later  Annie  Grayson  looking  with  much  interest  at 
the  Kimberley  Queen,  and  other  jewels  in  the  exhibit. 
There  was  nothing  more  to  report. 

"Keep  it  on  view  another  day  or  two,"  ordered 
Kennedy.  "Advertise  it,  but  in  a  quiet  way.  We 
don't  want  too  many  people  interested.  I'll  see  you 
in  the  morning  at  the  store — early." 

"I  think  I'll  just  run  back  to  Glenclair  again  to- 
night," remarked  Kennedy  as  he  hung  up  the  receiver. 
"You  needn't  bother  about  coming,  Walter.  I  want 
to  see  Dr.  Guthrie  a  moment.  You  remember  him? 
We  met  him  to-day  at  the  country  club,  a  kindly  look- 
ing, middle-aged  fellow?" 

I  would  willingly  have  gone  back  with  him,  but  I 
felt  that  I  could  be  of  no  particular  use.  While  he 
was  gone  I  pondered  a  good  deal  over  the  situation. 


206  The  Dream  Doctor 

Twice,  at  least,  previously  some  one  had  pilfered  jew- 
ellery from  stores,  leaving  in  its  place  worthless  imita- 
tions. Twice  the  evidence  had  been  so  conflicting 
that  no  one  could  judge  of  its  value.  What  reason, 
I  asked  myself,  was  there  to  suppose  that  it  would  be 
different  now?  No  shoplifter  in  her  senses  was 
likely  to  lift  the  great  Kimberley  Queen  gem  with 
the  eagle  eyes  of  clerks  and  detectives  on  her,  even  if 
she  did  not  discover  that  it  was  only  a  paste  jewel. 
And  if  Craig  gave  the  woman,  whoever  she  was,  a 
good  opportunity  to  get  away  with  it,  it  would  be  a 
case  of  the  same  conflicting  evidence;  or  worse,  no 
evidence. 

Yet  the  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more  apparent 
to  me  was  it  that  Kennedy  must  have  thought  the 
whole  thing  out  before.  So  far  all  that  had  been 
evident  was  that  he  was  merely  preparing  a  "plant." 
Still,  I  meant  to  caution  him  when  he  returned  that 
one  could  not  believe  his  eyes,  certainly  not  his  ears, 
as  to  what  might  happen,  unless  he  was  unusually 
skilful  or  lucky.  It  would  not  do  to  rely  on  any- 
thing so  fallible  as  the  human  eye  or  ear,  and  I  meant 
to  impress  it  on  him.  What,  after  all,  had  been  the 
net  result  of  our  activities  so  far?  We  had  found 
next  to  nothing.  Indeed,  it  was  all  a  greater  mystery 
than  ever. 

It  was  very  late  when  Craig  returned,  but  I  gath- 
ered from  the  still  fresh  look  on  his  face  that  he  had 
been  successful  in  whatever  it  was  he  had  had  in  mind 
when  he  made  the  trip. 

"I  saw  Dr.  Guthrie,"  he  reported  laconically,  as 
we  prepared  to  turn  in.  "He  says  that  he  isn't  quite 


The  Kleptomaniac  207 

sure  but  that  Mrs.  Willoughby  may  have  a  touch  of 
vertigo.  At  any  rate,  he  has  consented  to  let  me  come 
out  to-morrow  with  him  and  visit  her  as  a  specialist 
in  nervous  diseases  from  New  York.  I  had  to  tell 
him  just  enough  about  the  case  to  get  him  interested, 
but  that  will  do  no  harm.  I  think  I'll  set  this  alarm 
an  hour  ahead.  I  want  to  get  up  early  to-morrow, 
and  if  I  shouldn't  be  here  when  you  wake,  you'll  find 
me  at  Trimble's." 


XIV 

The  Crimeometer 

HE  alarm  wakened  me  all  right,  but  to  my  sur- 
JL  prise  Kennedy  had  already  gone,  ahead  of  it. 
I  dressed  hurriedly,  bolted  an  early  breakfast,  and 
made  my  way  to  Trimble's.  He  was  not  there,  and 
I  had  about  concluded  to  try  the  laboratory,  when 
I  saw  him  pulling  up  in  a  cab  from  which  he  took 
several  packages.  Donnelly  had  joined  us  by  this 
time,  and  together  we  rode  up  in  the  elevator  to  the 
jewelry  department.  I  had  never  seen  a  department- 
store  when  it  was  empty,  but  I  think  I  should  like 
to  shop  in  one  under  those  conditions.  It  seemed  in- 
credible to  get  into  the  elevator  and  go  directly  to 
the  floor  you  wanted. 

The  jewelry  department  was  in  the  front  of  the 
building  on  one  of  the  upper  floors,  with  wide  win- 
dows through  which  the  bright  morning  light 
streamed  attractively  on  the  glittering  wares  that 
the  clerks  were  taking  out  of  the  safes  and  disposing 
to  their  best  advantage.  The  store  had  not  opened 
yet,  and  we  could  work  unhampered. 

From  his  packages,  Kennedy  took  three  black 
boxes.  They  seemed  to  have  an  opening  in  front, 
while  at  one  side  was  a  little  crank,  which,  as  nearly 
as  I  could  make  out,  was  operated  by  clockwork  re- 
leased by  an  electric  contact.  His  first  problem 

208 


The  Crimeometer  209 

seemed  to  be  to  dispose  the  boxes  to  the  best  advaa- 
tage  at  various  angles  about  the  counter  where  the 
Kimberley  Queen  was  on  exhibition.  With  so  mnch 
bric-a-brac  and  other  large  articles  aboat,  it  did  not 
appear  to  be  very  difficult  to  conceal  the  boxes,  which 
were  perhaps  four  inches  square  on  the  ends  and  eight 
inches  deep.  From  the  boxes  with  the  clockwork  at- 
tachment at  the  side  he  led  wires,  centring  at  a  point 
at  the  interior  end  of  the  aisle  where  we  could  see 
but  would  hardly  be  observed  by  any  one  standing 
at  the  jewelry  counter. 

Customers  had  now  begun  to  arrive,  and  we  took 
a  position  in  the  background,  prepared  for  a  long 
wait.  Now  and  then  Donnelly  casually  sauntered 
past  us.  He  and  Craig  had  disposed  the  store  detec- 
tives in  a  certain  way  so  as  to  make  their  presence 
less  obvious,  while  the  clerks  had  received  instruc- 
tions how  to  act  under  the  circumstance  that  a  sus- 
picious person  was  observed. 

Once  when  Donnelly  came  up  he  was  quite  excited. 
He  had  just  received  a  message  from  Bentley  that 
some  of  the  stolen  property,  the  pearls,  probably, 
from  the  dog  collar  that  had  been  taken  from  Shor- 
ham's,  had  been  offered  for  sale  by  a  "fence"  known 
to  the  police  as  a  former  confederate  of  Annie  Gray- 
son. 

"You  see,  that  is  one  great  trouble  with  them  all," 
he  remarked,  with  his  eye  roving  about  the  store  in 
search  of  anything  irregular.  "A  shoplifter  rarely 
becomes  a  habitual  criminal  until  after  she  passes 
the  age  of  twenty-five.  If  they  pass  that  age  without 
quitting,  there  is  little  hope  of  their  getting  right 


210  The  Dream  Doctor 

again,  as  you  see.  For  by  that  time  they  have  long 
since  begun  to  consort  with  thieves  of  the  other  sex." 

The  hours  dragged  heavily,  though  it  was  a  splen- 
did chance  to  observe  at  leisure  the  psychology  of 
the  shopper  who  looked  at  much  and  bought  little, 
the  uncomfortableness  of  the  men  who  had  been 
dragged  to  the  department  store  slaughter  to  say 
"Yes"  and  foot  the  bills,  a  kaleidoscopic  throng  which 
might  have  been  interesting  if  we  had  not  been  so 
intent  on  only  one  matter. 

Kennedy  grasped  my  elbow  in  vise-like  fingers. 
Involuntarily  I  looked  down  at  the  counter  where 
the  Kimberley  Queen  reposed  in  all  the  trappings  of 
genuineness.  Mrs.  Willoughby  had  arrived  again. 

We  were  too  far  off  to  observe  distinctly  just  what 
was  taking  place,  but  evidently  Mrs.  Willoughby  was 
looking  at  the  gem.  A  moment  later  another  woman 
sauntered  casually  up  to  the  counter.  Even  at  a  dis- 
tance I  recognised  Annie  Grayson.  As  nearly  as  I 
could  make  out  they  seemed  to  exchange  remarks. 
The  clerk  answered  a  question  or  two,  then  began  to 
search  for  something  apparently  to  show  them. 
Every  one  about  them  was  busy,  and,  obedient  to  in- 
structions from  Donnelly,  the  store  detectives  were  in 
the  background. 

Kennedy  was  leaning  forward  watching  as  intently 
as  the  distance  would  permit.  He  reached  over  and 
pressed  the  button  near  him. 

After  a  minute  or  two  the  second  woman  left,  fol- 
lowed shortly  by  Mrs.  Willoughby  herself.  We  hur- 
ried over  to  the  counter,  and  Kennedy  seized  the  box 
containing  the  Kimberley  Queen.  He  examined  it 


The  Crimeometer  211 

carefully.    A  flaw  in  the  paste  jewel  caught  his  eye. 

"There  has  been  a  substitution  here,"  he  cried. 
"See !  The  paste  jewel  which  we  used  was  flawless ; 
this  has  a  little  carbon  spot  here  on  the  side." 

"One  of  my  men  has  been  detailed  to  follow  each 
of  them,"  whispered  Donnelly.  "Shall  I  order  them 
to  bring  Mrs.  Willoughby  and  Annie  Grayson  to  the 
superintendent's  office  and  have  them  searched?" 

"No,"  Craig  almost  shouted.  "That  would  spoil 
everything.  Don't  make  a  move  until  I  get  at  the 
real  truth  of  this  affair." 

The  case  was  becoming  more  than  ever  a  puzzle  to 
me,  but  there*  was  nothing  left  for  me  to  do  but  to 
wait  until  Kennedy  was  ready  to  accompany  Dr. 
Guthrie  to  the  Willoughby  house.  Several  times  he 
tried  to  reach  the  doctor  by  telephone,  but  it  was  not 
until  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  that  he  succeeded. 

"I  shall  be  quite  busy  the  rest  of  the  afternoon, 
Walter,"  remarked  Craig,  after  he  had  made  his  ap- 
pointment with  Dr.  Guthrie.  "If  you  will  meet  me 
out  at  the  Willoughbys'  at  about  eight  o'clock,  I  shall 
be  much  obliged  to  you." 

I  promised,  and  tried  to  devote  myself  to  catching 
up  with  my  notes,  which  were  always  sadly  behind 
when  Kennedy  had  an  important  case.  I  did  not 
succeed  in  accomplishing  much,  however. 

Dr.  Guthrie  himself  met  me  at  the  door  of  the 
beautiful  house  on  Woodridge  Avenue  and  with  a 
hearty  handshake  ushered  me  into  the  large  room  in 
the  right  wing  outside  of  which  we  had  placed  the 
telegraphone  two  nights  before.  It  was  the  library. 

We  found  Kennedy  arranging  an  instrument  in  the 


212  The  Dream  Doctor 

music-room  which  adjoined  the  library.  From  what 
little  knowledge  I  have  of  electricity  I  should  have 
said  it  was,  in  part  at  least,  a  galvanometer,  one  of 
those  instruments  which  register  the  intensity  of 
minute  electric  currents.  As  nearly  as  I  could  make 
out,  in  this  case  the  galvanometer  was  so  arranged 
that  its  action  swung  to  one  side  or  the  other  a  little 
concave  mirror  hung  from  a  framework  which  rested 
on  the  table.  Directly  in  front  of  it  was  an  electric 
light,  and  the  reflection  of  the  light  was  caught  in 
the  mirror  and  focused  by  its  concavity  upon  a  point 
to  one  side  of  the  light.  Back  of  it  was  a  long  strip 
of  ground  glass  and  an  arrow  point,  attached  to  which 
was  a  pen  which  touched  a  roll  of  paper. 

On  the  large  table  in  the  library  itself  Kennedy  had 
placed  in  the  centre  a  transverse  board  partition,  high 
enough  so  that  two  people  seated  could  see  each 
other's  faces  and  converse  over  it,  but  could  not  see 
each  other's  hands.  On  one  side  of  the  partition 
were  two  metal  domes  which  were  fixed  to  a  board 
set  on  the  table.  On  the  other  side,  in  addition  to 
space  on  which  he  could  write,  Kennedy  had  arranged 
what  looked  like  one  of  these  new  miniature  moving- 
picture  apparatuses  operated  by  electricity.  Indeed, 
I  felt  that  it  must  be  that,  for  directly  in  front  of  it, 
hanging  on  the  wall,  in  plain  view  of  any  one  seated 
on  the  side  of  the  table  containing  the  metal  domes, 
was  a  large  white  sheet. 

The  time  for  the  experiment,  whatever  its  nature 
might  be,  had  at  last  arrived,  and  Dr.  Guthrie  intro- 
duced Mr.  and  Mrs.  Willoughby  to  us  as  specialists 
whom  he  had  persuaded  with  great  difficulty  to  come 


The  Crimeometer  213 

down  from  New  York.  Mr.  Willoughby  he  requested 
to  remain  outside  until  after  the  tests.  She  seemed 
perfectly  calm  as  she  greeted  us,  and  looked  with 
curiosity  at  the  paraphernalia  which  Kennedy  had 
installed  in  her  library.  Kennedy,  who  was  putting 
some  finishing  touches  on  it,  was  talking  in  a  low 
voice  to  reassure  her. 

"If  you  will  sit  here,  please,  Mrs.  Willoughby,  and 
place  your  hands  on  these  two  brass  domes — there, 
that's  it.  This  is  just  a  little  arrangement  to  test 
your  nervous  condition.  Dr.  Guthrie,  who  under- 
stands it,  will  take  his  position  outside  in  the  music- 
room  at  that  other  table.  Walter,  just  switch  off 
that  light,  please. 

"Mrs.  Willoughby,  I  may  say  that  in  testing,  say, 
the  memory,  we  psychologists  have  recently  developed 
two  tests,  the  event  test,  where  something  is  made  to 
happen  before  a  person's  eyes  and  later  he  is  asked 
to  describe  it,  and  the  picture  test,  where  a  picture 
is  shown  for  a  certain  length  of  time,  after  which  the 
patient  is  also  asked  to  describe  what  was  in  the 
picture.  I  have  endeavoured  to  combine  these  two 
ideas  by  using  the  moving-picture  machine  which  you 
see  here.  I  am  going  to  show  three  reels  of  films." 

As  nearly  as  I  could  make  out  Kennedy  had  turned 
on  the  light  in  the  lantern  on  his  side  of  the  table. 
As  he  worked  over  the  machine,  which  for  the  present 
served  to  distract  Mrs.  Willoughby's  attention  from 
herself,  he  was  asking  her  a  series  of  questions. 
From  my  position  I  could  see  that  by  the  light  of 
the  machine  he  was  recording  both  the  questions  and 
the  answers,  as  well  as  the  time  registered  to  the 


214  The  Dream  Doctor 

fifth  of  a  second  by  a  stop-watch.  Mrs.  Willoughby 
could  not  see  what  he  was  doing  under  the  pretence 
of  working  over  his  little  moving-picture  machine. 

He  had  at  last  finished  the  questioning.  Sud- 
denly, without  any  warning,  a  picture  began  to  play 
on  the  sheet.  I  must  say  that  I  was  startled  myself. 
It  represented  the  jewelry  counter  at  Trimble's,  and 
in  it  I  could  see  Mrs.  Willoughby  herself  in  animated 
conversation  with  one  of  the  clerks.  I  looked  in-, 
tently,  dividing  my  attention  between  the  picture  and 
the  woman.  But  so  far  as  I  could  see  there  was  noth- 
ing in  this  first  film  that  incriminated  either  of  them. 

Kennedy  started  on  the  second  without  stopping. 
It  was  practically  the  same  as  the  first,  only  taken 
from  a  different  angle. 

He  had  scarcely  run  it  half  through  when  Dr. 
Guthrie  opened  the  door. 

"I  think  Mrs.  Willoughby  must  have  taken  her 
hands  off  the  metal  domes,"  he  remarked ;  "I  can  get 
no  record  out  here." 

I  had  turned  when  he  opened  the  door,  and  now 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Willoughby  standing,  her 
hands  pressed  tightly  to  her  head  as  if  it  were  burst- 
ing, and  swaying  as  if  she  would  faint.  I  do  not 
know  what  the  film  was  showing  at  this  point,  for 
Kennedy  with  a  quick  movement  shut  it  off  and 
sprang  to  her  side. 

"There,  that  will  do,  Mrs.  Willoughby.  I  see  that 
you  are  not  well,"  he  soothed,  "Doctor,  a  little  some- 
thing to  quiet  her  nerves.  I  think  we  can  complete 
our  work  merely  by  comparing  notes.  Call  Mr.  Wil- 
loughby, Walter.  There,  sir,  if  you  will  take  charge 


The  Crimeometer  215 

i 

of  your  -wife  and  perhaps  take  her  for  a  turn  or  two 
in  the  fresh  air,  I  think  we  can  tell  you  in  a  few  mo- 
ments whether  her  condition  is  in  any  way  serious 
or  not." 

Mrs.  Willoughby  was  on  the  verge  of  hysterics  as 
her  husband  supported  her  out  of  the  room.  The 
door  had  scarcely  shut  before  Kennedy  threw  open 
a  window  and  seemed  to  beckon  into  the  darkness. 
As  if  from  nowhere,  Donnelly  and  Bentley  sprang  up 
and  were  admitted. 

Dr.  Guthrie  had  now  returned  from,  the  music- 
room,  bearing  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  was  traced 
a  long  irregular  curve  at  various  points  on  which 
marginal  notes  had  been  written  hastily. 

Kennedy  leaped  directly  into  the  middle  of  things 
with  his  characteristic  ardour.  "You  recall,"  he  be- 
gan, "that  no  one  seemed  to  know  just  who  took  the 
jewels  in  both  the  cases  you  first  reported?  'Seeing 
is  believing/  is  an  old  saying,  but  in  the  face  of  such 
reports  as  you  detectives  gathered  it  is  in  a  fair  way 
to  lose  its  force.  And  you  were  not  at  fault,  either, 
for  modern  psychology  is  proving  by  experiments  that 
people  do  not  see  even  a  fraction  of  the  things  they 
confidently  believe  they  see. 

"For  example,  a  friend  of  mine,  a  professor  in  a 
Western  university,  has  carried  on  experiments  with 
scores  of  people  and  has  not  found  one  who  could 
give  a  completely  accurate  description  of  what  he 
had  seen,  even  in  the  direct  testimony;  while  under 
the  influence  of  questions,  particularly  if  they  were 
at  all  leading,  witnesses  all  showed  extensive  inac- 
curacies in  one  or  more  particulars,  and  that  even 


216  The  Dream  Doctor 

though  they  are  in  a  more  advantageous  position  for 
giving  reports  than  were  your  clerks  who  were  not 
prepared.  Indeed,  it  is  often  a  wonder  to  me  that 
witnesses  of  ordinary  events  who  are  called  upon  in 
court  to  relate  what  they  saw  after  a  considerable 
lapse  of  time  are  as  accurate  as  they  are,  considering 
the  questioning  they  often  go  through  from  inter- 
ested parties,  neighbours  and  friends,  and  the  con- 
stant and  often  biased  rehearsing  of  the  event.  The 
court  asks  the  witness  to  tell  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth.  How  can  he?  In 
fact,  I  am  often  surprised  that  there  is  such  a  resem- 
blance between  the  testimony  and  the  actual  facts  of 
the  case! 

"But  I  have  here  a  little  witness  that  never  lies, 
and,  mindful  of  the  fallibility  of  ordinary  witnesses, 
I  called  it  in.  It  is  a  new,  compact,  little  motion  cam- 
era which  has  just  been  perfected  to  do  automatically 
what  the  big  moving-picture  making  cameras  do." 

He  touched  one  of  the  little  black  boxes  such  as 
we  had  seen  him  install  in  the  jewelry  department  at 
Trimble's. 

"Each  of  these  holds  one  hundred  and  sixty  feet 
of  film,"  he  resumed,  "enough  to  last  three  minutes, 
taking,  say,  sixteen  pictures  to  the  foot  and  running 
about  one  foot  a  second.  You  know  that  less  than 
ten  or  eleven  pictures  a  second  affect  the  retina  as 
separate,  broken  pictures.  The  use  of  this  compact 
little  motion  camera  was  suggested  to  me  by  an  in- 
genious but*  cumbersome  invention  recently  offered 
to  the  police  in  Paris — the  installation  on  the  clock- 
towers  in  various  streets  of  cinematograph  appa- 


The  Crimeometer  217 

ratus  directed  by  wireless.  The  motion  camera  as  a 
detective  has  now  proved  its  value.  I  have  here  three 
films  taken  at  Trimble's,  from  different  angles,  and 
they  clearly  show  exactly  what  actually  occurred 
while  Mrs.  Willoughby  and  Annie  Gray  son  were 
looking  at  the  Kimberley  Queen." 

He  paused  as  if  analysing  the  steps  in  his  own 
mind.  "The  telegraphone  gave  me  the  first  hint  of 
the  truth,"  he  said.  "The  motion  camera  brought  me 
a  step  nearer,  but  without  this  third  instrument,  while 
I  should  have  been  successful,  I  would  not  have  got 
at  the  whole  truth." 

He  was  fingering  the  apparatus  on  the  library  table 
connected  with  that  in  the  music-room.  "This  is  the 
psychometer  for  testing  mental  aberrations,"  he  ex- 
plained. "The  scientists  who  are  using  it  to-day  are 
working,  not  with  a  view  to  aiding  criminal  juris- 
prudence, but  with  the  hope  of  making  such  discov- 
eries that  the  mental  health  of  the  race  may  be  bet- 
tered. Still,  I  believe  that  in  the  study  of  mental 
diseases  these  men  are  furnishing  the  knowledge  upon 
which  future  criminologists  will  build  to  make  the 
detection  of  crime  an  absolute  certainty.  Some  day 
there  will  be  no  jury,  no  detectives,  no  witnesses,  no 
attorneys.  The  state  will  merely  submit  all  suspects 
to  tests  of  scientific  instruments  like  these,  and  as 
these  instruments  can  not  make  mistakes  or  tell  lies 
their  evidence  will  be  conclusive  of  guilt  or  inno- 
cence. 

"Already  the  psychometer  is  an  actual  working 
fact.  No  living  man  can  conceal  his  emotions  from 
the  uncanny  instrument.  He  may  bring  the  most  gi- 


218  The  Dream  Doctor 

gantic  of  will-powers  into  play  to  conceal  his  inner 
feelings  and  the  psychometer  will  record  the  very 
work  which  he  makes  this  will-power  do. 

"The  machine  is  based  upon  the  fact  that  experi- 
ments have  proved  that  the  human  body's  resistance 
to  an  electrical  current  is  increased  with  the  increase 
of  the  emotions.  Dr.  Jung,  of  Zurich,  thought  that 
it  would  be  a  very  simple  matter  to  record  these  vary- 
ing emotions,  and  the  psychometer  is  the  result — 
simple  and  crude  to-day  compared  with  what  we  have 
a  right  to  expect  in  the  future. 

"A  galvanometer  is  so  arranged  that  its  action 
swings  a  mirror  from  side  to  side,  reflecting  a  light. 
This  light  falls  on  a  ground-glass  scale  marked  off 
into  centimetres,  and  the  arrow  is  made  to  follow  the 
beam  of  light.  A  pen  pressing  down  on  a  metal  drum 
carrying  a  long  roll  of  paper  revolved  by  machinery 
records  the  variations.  Dr.  Guthrie,  who  had  charge 
of  the  recording,  simply  sat  in  front  of  the  ground 
glass  and  with  the  arrow  point  followed  the  reflection 
of  the  light  as  it  moved  along  the  scale,  in  this  way 
making  a  record  on  the  paper  on  the  drum,  which  I  see 
he  is  now  holding  in  his  hand. 

"Mrs.  Willoughby,  the  subject,  and  myself,  the  ex- 
aminer, sat  here,  facing  each  other  over  this  table. 
Through  those  metal  domes  on  which  she  was  to  keep 
her  hands  she  received  an  electric  current  so  weak 
that  it  could  not  be  felt  even  by  the  most  sensitive 
nerves.  Now  with  every  increase  in  her  emotion, 
either  while  I  was  putting  questions  to  her  or  show- 
ing her  the  pictures,  whether  she  showed  it  outwardly 
or  not,  she  increased  her  body's  resistance  to  the  cur 


The  Crimeometer  219 

rent  that  was  being  passed  in  through  her  hands. 
The  increase  was  felt  by  the  galvanometer  connected 
by  wires  in  the  music-room,  the  mirror  swung,  the 
light  travelled  on  the  scale,  the  arrow  was  moved  by 
Dr.  Guthrie,  and  her  varying  emotions  were  recorded 
indelibly  upon  the  revolving  sheet  of  paper,  recorded 
in  such  a  way  as  to  show  their  intensity  and  reveal 
to  the  trained  scientist  much  of  the  mental  condition 
of  the  subject." 

Kennedy  and  Dr.  Guthrie  now  conversed  in  low 
tones.  Once  in  a  while  I  could  catch  a  scrap  of  the 
conversation — "not  an  epileptic,"  "no  abnormal  con- 
formation of  the  head,"  "certain  mental  defects," 
"often  the  result  of  sickness  or  accident." 

"Every  time  that  woman  appeared  there  was  a 
most  peculiar  disturbance,"  remarked  Dr.  Guthrie  as 
Kennedy  took  the  roll  of  paper  from  him  and  studied 
it  carefully. 

At  length  the  light  seemed  to  break  through  his 
face. 

"Among  the  various  kinds  of  insanity,"  he  said, 
slowly  measuring  his  words,  "there  is  one  that  mani- 
fests itself  as  an  irresistible  impulse  to  steal.  Such 
terms  as  neuropath  and  kleptomaniac  are  often  re- 
garded as  rather  elegant  names  for  contemptible  ex- 
cuses invented  by  medical  men  to  cover  up  stealing. 
People  are  prone  to  say  cynically,  'Poor  man's  sins; 
rich  man's  diseases.'  Yet  kleptomania  does  exist,  and 
it  is  easy  to  make  it  seem  like  crime  when  it  is  really 
persistent,  incorrigible,  and  irrational  stealing. 
Often  it  is  so  great  as  to  be  incurable.  Cases  have 
been  recorded  of  clerirymen  who  were  kleptomaniacs 


220  The  Dream  Doctor 

and  in  one  instance  a  dying  victim  stole  the  snuff- 
box of  his  confessor. 

"It  is  the  pleasure  and  excitement  of  stealing,  not 
the  desire  for  the  object  stolen,  which  distinguishes 
the  kleptomaniac  from  the  ordinary  thief.  Usually 
the  kleptomaniac  is  a  woman,  with  an  insane  desire  to 
steal  for  the  mere  sake  of  stealing.  The  morbid  crav- 
ing for  excitement  which  is  at  the  bottom  of  so  many 
motiveless  and  useless  crimes,  again  and  again  has 
driven  apparently  sensible  men  and  women  to  ruin 
and  even  to  suicide.  It  is  a  form  of  emotional  insan- 
ity, not  loss  of  control  of  the  will,  but  perversion  of 
the  will.  Some  are  models  in  their  lucid  intervals, 
but  when  the  mania  is  on  them  they  cannot  resist. 
The  very  act  of  taking  constitutes  the  pleasure,  not 
possession.  One  must  take  into  consideration  many 
things,  for  such  diseases  as  kleptomania  belong  ex* 
clusively  to  civilisation;  they  are  the  product  of  an 
age  of  sensationalism.  Naturally  enough,  woman, 
with  her  delicately  balanced  nervous  organisation,  is 
the  first  and  chief  offender." 

Kennedy  had  seated  himself  at  the  table  and  was 
writing  hastily.  When  he  had  finished,  he  held  the 
papers  in  his  hand  to  dry. 

He  handed  one  sheet  each  to  Bentley  and  Donnelly. 
We  crowded  about.  Kennedy  had  simply  written 
out  two  bills  for  the  necklace  and  the  collar  of  pearls. 

"Send  them  in  to  Mr.  Willoughby,"  he  added.  "I 
think  he  will  be  glad  to  pay  them  to  hush  up  the  scan- 
dal." 

We  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement  at  the  rev- 
elation. 


The  Crimeometer  221 

"But  what  about  Annie  Grayson?"  persisted  Don- 
nelly. 

"I  have  taken  care  of  her,"  responded  Kennedy 
laconically.  "She  is  already  under  arrest.  Would 
you  like  to  see  why?" 

A  moment  later  we  had  all  piled  into  Dr.  Guthrie's 
car,  standing  at  the  door. 

At  the  cosy  little  Grayson  villa  we  found  two  large- 
eyed  detectives  and  a  very  angry  woman  waiting  im- 
patiently. Heaped  up  on  a  table  in  the  living  room 
was  a  store  of  loot  that  readily  accounted  for  the  ocu- 
lar peculiarity  of  the  detectives. 

The  jumble  on  the  table  contained  a  most  magnif- 
icent collection  of  diamonds,  sapphires,  ropes  of 
pearls,  emeralds,  statuettes,  and  bronze  and  ivory 
antiques,  books  in  rare  bindings,  and  other  baubles 
which  wealth  alone  can  command.  It  dazzled  our 
eyes  as  we  made  a  mental  inventory  of  the  heap.  Yet 
it  was  a  most  miscellaneous  collection.  Beside  a 
pearl  collar  with  a  diamond  clasp  were  a  pair  of  plain 
leather  slippers  and  a  pair  of  silk  stockings.  Things 
of  value  and  things  of  no  value  were  mixed  as  if  by  a 
lunatic.  A]  beautiful  neck  ornament  of  carved  coral 
lay  near  a  half-dozen  common  linen  handkerchiefs. 
A  strip  of  silk  hid  a  valuable  collection  of  antique 
jewellery.  Besides  diamonds  and  precious  stones  by 
the  score  were  gold  and  silver  ornaments,  silks,  satins, 
laces,  draperies,  articles  of  virtu,  plumes,  even  cut- 
lery and  bric-a-brac.  All  this  must  have  been  the 
result  of  countless  excursions  to  the  stores  of  New 
York  and  innumerable  clever  thefts. 

We  could  only  look  at  each  other  in  amazement 


222  The  Dream  Doctor 

and  wonder  at  the  defiance  written  on  the  face  of  An- 
nie Grayson. 

"In  all  this  strange  tangle  of  events,"  remarked 
Kennedy,  surveying  the  pile  with  obvious  satisfaction, 
"I  find  that  the  precise  instruments  of  science  have 
told  me  one  more  thing.  Some  one  else  discovered 
Mrs.  Willoughby's  weakness,  led  her  on,  suggested  op- 
portunities to  her,  used  her  again  and  again,  profited 
by  her  malady,  probably  to  the  extent  of  thousands 
of  dollars.  My  telegraphone  record  hinted  at  that. 
In  some  way  Annie  Grayson  secured  the  confidence 
of  Mrs.  Willoughby.  The  one  took  for  the  sake  of 
taking;  the  other  received  for  the  sake  of  money. 
Mrs.  Willoughby  was  easily  persuaded  by  her  new 
friend  to  leave  here  what  she  had  stolen.  Besides, 
having  taken  it,  she  had  no  further  interest  in  it. 

"The  rule  of  law  is  that  every  one  is  responsible 
who  knows  the  nature  and  consequences  of  his  act. 
We  have  absolute  proof  that  you,  Annie  Grayson,  al- 
though you  did  not  actually  commit  any  of  the  thefts 
yourself,  led  Mrs.  Willoughby  on  and  profited  by  her. 
Dr.  Guthrie  will  take  care  of  the  case  of  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby. But  the  law  must  deal  with  you  for  play- 
ing on  the  insanity  of  a  kleptomaniac — the  cleverest 
scheme  yet  of  the  queen  of  shoplifters." 

As  Kennedy  turned  nonchalantly  from  the  detect- 
ives who  had  seized  Annie  Grayson,  he  drew  a  little 
red  folder  from  his  pocket. 

"You  see,  Walter,"  he  smiled,  "how  soon  one  gets 
into  a  habit?  I'm  almost  a  regular  commuter,  now. 
You  know,  they  are  always  bringing  out  these  little 
red  folders  just  when  things  grow  interesting." 


The  Crimeometer  223 

I  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  He  was  studying  the 
local  timetable. 

"We  can  get  the  last  train  from  Glenclair  if  we 
hurry,"  he  announced,  stuffing  the  folder  back  into 
his  pocket.  "They  will  take  her  to  Newark  by  trol- 
ley, I  suppose.  Come  on." 

We  made  our  hasty  adieux  and  escaped  as  best  we 
could  the  shower  of  congratulations. 

"Now  for  a  rest,"  he  said,  settling  back  into  the 
plush  covered  seat  for  the  long  ride  into  town,  his  hat 
down  over  his  eyes  and  his  legs  hunched  up  against 
the  back  of  the  next  seat.  Across  in  the  tube  and 
uptown  in  a  nighthawk  cab  we  went  and  at  last  we 
were  home  for  a  good  sleep. 

"This  promises  to  be  an  off-day,"  Craig  remarked, 
the  next  morning  over  the  breakfast  table.  "Meet 
me  in  the  forenoon  and  we'll  take  a  long,  swinging 
walk.  I  feel  the  need  of  physical  exercise." 

"A  mark  of  returning  sanity!"  I  exclaimed. 

I  had  become  so  used  to  being  called  out  on  the  un- 
expected, now,  that  I  almost  felt  that  some  one  might 
stop  us  on  our  tramp.  Nothing  of  the  sort  happened, 
however,  until  our  return. 

Then  a  middle-aged  man  and  a  young  girl,  heavily 
veiled,  were  waiting  for  Kennedy,  as  we  turned  in 
from  the  brisk  finish  in  the  cutting  river  wind  along 
the  Drive. 

"Winslow  is  my  name,  sir,"  the  man  began,  rising 
nervously  as  we  entered  the  room,  "and  this  is  my 
only  daughter,  Ruth." 

Kennedy  bowed  and  we  waited  for  the  man  to  pro- 
ceed. He  drew  his  hand  over  his  forehead  which  was 

15 


224  The  Dream  Doctor 

moist  with  perspiration  in  spite  of  the  season.  Ruth 
Winslow  was  an  attractive  young  woman,  I  could 
see  at  a  glance,  although  her  face  was  almost  com- 
pletely hidden  by  the  thick  veil. 

"Perhaps,  Ruth,  I  had  better — ah — see  these  gen- 
tlemen alone?"  suggested  her  father  gently. 

"No,  father,"  she  answered  in  a  tone  of  forced 
bravery,  "I  think  not.  I  can  stand  it.  I  must  stand 
it.  Perhaps  I  can  help  you  in  telling  about  the — the 
case." 

Mr.  Winslow  cleared  his  throat. 

"We  are  from  Goodyear,  a  little  mill-town/'  he  pro- 
ceeded slowly,  "and  as  you  doubtless  can  see  we  have 
just  arrived  after  travelling  all  day." 

"Goodyear,"  repeated  Kennedy  slowly  as  the  man 
paused.  "The  chief  industry,  of  course,  is  rubber, 
I  suppose." 

"Yes,"  assented  Mr.  Winslow,  "the  town  centres 
about  rubber.  Our  factories  are  not  the  largest  but 
are  very  large,  nevertheless,  and  are  all  that  keep  the 
town  going.  It  is  on  rubber,  also,  I  fear,  that  the 
tragedy  which  I  am  about  to  relate  hangs.  I  sup- 
pose the  New  York  papers  have  had  nothing  to  say 
of  the  strange  death  of  Bradley  Gushing,  a  young 
chemist  in  Goodyear  who  was  formerly  employed  by 
the  mills  but  had  lately  set  up  a  little  laboratory  of 
his  own?" 

Kennedy  turned  to  me.  "Nothing  unless  the  late 
editions  of  the  evening  papers  have  it,"  I  replied. 

"Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well,"  continued  Mr.  Wins- 
low.  "They  wouldn't  have  it  straight.  In  fact,  no 
one  has  it  straight  yet.  That  is  why  we  have  come  to 


The  Crimeometer  225 

you.  You  see,  to  my  way  of  thinking  Bradley  Gush- 
ing was  on  the  road  to  changing  the  name  of  the  town 
from  Goodyear  to  Gushing.  He  was  not  the  inventor 
of  synthetic  rubber  about  which  you  hear  nowadays, 
but  he  had  improved  the  process  so  much  that  there  is 
no  doubt  that  synthetic  rubber  would  soon  have  been 
on  the  market  cheaper  and  better  than  the  best  nat- 
ural rubber  from  Para, 

"Goodyear  is  not  a  large  place,  but  it  is  famous  for 
its  rubber  and  uses  a  great  deal  of  raw  material. 
We  have  sent  out  some  of  the  best  men  in  the  business, 
seeking  new  sources  in  South  America,  in  Mexico,  in 
Ceylon,  Malaysia  and  the  Congo.  What  our  people 
do  not  know  about  rubber  is  hardly  worth  knowing, 
from  the  crude  gum  to  the  thousands  of  forms  of  fin- 
ished products.  Goodyear  is  a  wealthy  little  town, 
too,  for  its  size.  Naturally  all  its  investments  are  in 
rubber,  not  only  in  our  own  mills  but  in  companies 
all  over  the  world.  Last  year  several  of  our  leading 
citizens  became  interested  in  a  new  concession  in  the 
Congo  granted  to  a  group  of  American  capitalists, 
among  whom  was  Lewis  Borland,  who  is  easily  the 
local  magnate  of  our  town.  When  this  group  organ- 
ised an  expedition  to  explore  the  region  preparatory 
to  taking  up  the  concession,  several  of  the  best  known 
people  in  Goodyear  accompanied  the  party  and  later 
subscribed  for  large  blocks  of  stock. 

"I  say  all  this  so  that  you  will  understand  at  the 
start  just  what  part  rubber  plays  in  the  life  of  our 
little  community.  You  can  readily  see  that  such  be- 
ing the  case,  whatever  advantage  the  world  at  large 
flight  gain  from  cheap  synthetic  rubber  would 


226  The  Dream  Doctor 

scarcely  benefit  those  whose  money  and  labour  had 
been  expended  on  the  assumption  that  rubber  would 
be  scarce  and  dear.  Naturally,  then,  Bradley  Gush- 
ing was  not  precisely  popular  with  a  certain  set  in 
Goodyear.  As  for  myself,  I  am  frank  to  admit  that 
I  might  have  shared  the  opinion  of  many  others  re- 
garding him,  for  I  have  a  small  investment  in  this 
Congo  enterprise  myself.  But  the  fact  is  that  Gush- 
ing, when  he  came  to  our  town  fresh  from  his  college 
fellowship  in  industrial  chemistry,  met  my  daughter." 

Without  taking  his  eyes  off  Kennedy,  he  reached 
over  and  patted  the  gloved  hand  that  clutched  the 
arm  of  the  chair  alongside  his  own.  "They  were  en- 
gaged and  often  they  used  to  talk  over  what  they 
would  do  when  Bradley's  invention  of  a  new  way  to 
polymerise  isoprene,  as  the  process  is  called,  had 
solved  the  rubber  question  and  had  made  him  rich. 
I  firmly  believe  that  their  dreams  were  not  day 
dreams,  either.  The  thing  was  done.  I  have  seen 
his  products  and  I  know  something  about  rubber. 
There  were  no  impurities  in  his  rubber." 

Mr.  Winslow  paused.     Ruth  was  sobbing  quietly. 

"This  morning,"  he  resumed  hastily,  "Bradley 
Gushing  was  found  dead  in  his  laboratory  under  the 
most  peculiar  circumstances.  I  do  not  know  whether 
his  secret  died  with  him  or  whether  some  one  has 
stolen  it.  From  the  indications  I  concluded  that  he 
had  been  murdered." 

Such  was  the  case  as  Kennedy  and  I  heard  it  then. 

Ruth  looked  up  at  him  with  tearful  eyes  wistful 
with  pain,  "Would  Mr.  Kennedy  work  on  it?"  There 
was  only  one  answer. 


XV 
The  Vampire 

AS  we  sped  out  to  the  little  mill-town  on  the 
last  train,  after  Kennedy  had  insisted  on  tak- 
ing us  all  to  a  quiet  little  restaurant,  he  placed  us 
so  that  Miss  Winslow  was  furthest  from  him  and  her 
father  nearest.  I  could  hear  now  and  then  scraps 
of  their  conversation  as  he  resumed  his  questioning, 
and  knew  that  Mr.  Winslow  was  proving  to  be  a  good 
observer. 

"Gushing  used  to  hire  a  young  fellow  of  some  sci- 
entific experience,  named  Strong,"  said  Mr.  Winslow 
as  he  endeavoured  to  piece  the  facts  together  as  log- 
ically as  it  was  possible  to  do.  "Strong  used  to  open 
his  laboratory  for  him  in  the  morning,  clean  up  the 
dirty  apparatus,  and  often  assist  him  in  some  of  his 
experiments.  This  morning  when  Strong  ap- 
proached the  laboratory  at  the  usual  time  he  was  sur- 
prised to  see  that  though  it  was  broad  daylight  there 
was  a  light  burning.  He  was  alarmed  and  before 
going  in  looked  through  the  window.  The  sight  that 
he  saw  froze  him.  There  lay  Gushing  on  a  workbench 
and  beside  him  and  around  him  pools  of  coagulating 
blood.  The  door  was  not  locked,  as  we  found  after- 
ward, but  the  young  man  did  not  stop  to  enter.  He 
ran  to  me  and,  fortunately,  I  met  him  at  our  door.  I 
went  back. 

227 


228  The  Dreain  Doctor 

"We  opened  the  unlocked  door.  The  first  thing, 
as  I  recall  it,  that  greeted  me  was  an  unmistakable 
odour  of  oranges.  It  was  a  very  penetrating  and 
very  peculiar  odour.  I  didn't  understand  it,  for 
there  seemed  to  be  something  else  in  it  besides  the 
orange  smell.  However,  I  soon  found  out  what  it 
was,  or  at  least  Strong  did.  I  don't  know  whether 
you  know  anything  about  it,  but  it  seems  that  when 
you  melt  real  rubber  in  the  effort  to  reduce  it  to  car- 
bon and  hydrogen,  you  get  a  liquid  substance  which 
is  known  as  isoprene.  Well,  isoprene,  according  to 
Strong,  gives  out  an  odour  something  like  ether. 
Gushing,  or  some  one  else,  had  apparently  been  heat- 
ing isoprene.  As  soon  as  Strong  mentioned  the  smell 
of  ether  I  recognised  that  that  was  what  made  the 
smell  of  oranges  so  peculiar. 

"However,  that's  not  the  point.  There  lay  Cushing 
on  his  back  on  the  workbench,  just  as  Strong  had  said. 
I  bent  over  him,  and  in  his  arm,  which  was  bare,  I 
saw  a  little  gash  made  by  some  sharp  instrument  and 
laying  bare  an  artery,  I  think,  which  was  cut.  Long 
spurts  of  blood  covered  the  floor  for  some  distance 
around  and  from  the  veins  in  his  arm,  which  had  also 
been  severed,  a  long  stream  of  blood  led  to  a  hollow 
in  the  cement  floor  where  it  had  collected.  I  believe 
that  he  bled  to  death." 

"And  the  motive  for  such  a  terrible  crime?"  quer- 
ied Craig. 

Mr.  Winslow  shook  his  head  helplessly.  "I  sup- 
pose there  are  plenty  of  motives,"  he  answered  slowly, 
"as  many  motives  as  there  are  big  investments  in  rub- 
ber-producing ventures  in  Goodyear." 


The  Vampire  229 

"But  hayo  yon  any  idea  who  would  go  so  far  to  pro- 
tect Ms  investments  as  to  kill?"  persisted  Kennedy. 

Mr.  Winslow  made  no  reply.  "Who,"  asked  Ken- 
nedy, "was  chiefly  interested  in  the  rubber  works 
where  Gushing  was  formerly  employed?" 

"The  president  of  the  company  is  the  Mr.  Borland 
whom  I  mentioned,"  replied  Mr.  Winslow.  "He  is 
a  man  of  about  forty,  I  should  say,  and  is  reputed  to 
own  a  majority  of  the — " 

"Oh,  father,"  interrupted  Miss  Winslow,  who  had 
caught  the  drift  of  the  conversation  in  spite  of  the 
pains  that  had  been  taken  to  keep  it  away  from  her, 
"Mr.  Borland  would  never  dream  of  such  a  thing. 
It  is  wrong  even  to  think  of  it." 

"I  didn't  say  that  he  would,  my  dear,"  corrected 
Mr.  Winslow  gently.  "Professor  Kennedy  asked  me 
who  was  chiefly  interested  in  the  rubber  works  and 
Mr.  Borland  owns  a  majority  of  the  stock."  He 
leaned  over  and  whispered  to  Kennedy,  "Borland  is 
a  visitor  at  our  home,  and  between  you  and  me,  he 
thinks  a  great  deal  of  Ruth." 

I  looked  quickly  at  Kennedy,  but  he  was  absorbed 
in  looking  out  of  the  car  window  at  the  landscape 
which  he  did  not  and  could  not  see. 

"You  said  there  were  others  who  had  an  interest 
in  outside  companies,"  cross-questioned  Kennedy. 
"I  take  it  that  you  mean  companies  dealing  in  crude 
rubber,  the  raw  material,  people  with  investments  in 
plantations  and  concessions,  perhaps.  Who  are 
they?  Who  were  the  men  who  went  on  that  expedi- 
tion to  the  Congo  with  Borland  which  you  men- 
tioned?" 


230  The  Dream  Doctor 

"Of  course,  there  was  Borland  himself,"  answered 
Winslow.  "Then  there  was  a  young  chemist  named 
Lathrop,  a  very  clever  and  ambitious  fellow  who  suc- 
ceeded Gushing  when  he  resigned  from  the  works, 
and  Dr.  Harris,  who  was  persuaded  to  go  because  of 
his  friendship  for  Borland.  After  they  took  up  the 
concession  I  believe  all  of  them  put  money  into  it, 
though  how  much  I  can't  say." 

I  was  curious  to  ask  whether  there  were  any  other 
visitors  at  the  Winslow  house  who  might  be  rivals 
for  Ruth's  affections,  but  there  was  no  opportu- 
nity. 

Nothing  more  was  said  until  we  arrived  at  Good- 
year. 

We  found  the  body  of  Gushing  lying  in  a  modest 
little  mortuary  chapel  of  an  undertaking  establish- 
ment on  the  main  street.  Kennedy  at  once  began 
his  investigation  by  discovering  what  seemed  to  have 
escaped  others.  About  the  throat  were  light  discol- 
ourations  that  showed  that  the  young  inventor  had 
been  choked  by  a  man  .with  a  powerful  grasp,  al- 
though the  fact  that  the  marks  had  escaped  observa- 
tion led  quite  obviously  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had 
not  met  his  death  in  that  way,  and  that  the  marks 
probably  played  only  a  minor  part  in  the  tragedy. 

Kennedy  passed  over  the  doubtful  evidence  of 
strangulation  for  the  more  profitable  examination 
of  the  little  gash  in  the  wrist. 

"The  radial  artery  has  been  cut,"  he  mused. 

A  low  exclamation  from  him  brought  us  all  bend- 
ing over  him  as  he  stooped  and  examined  the  cold 


The  Vampire  281 

form.  He  was  holding  in  the  palm  of  his  hand  a  lit- 
tle piece  of  something  that  shone  like  silver.  It  was 
in  the  form  of  a  minute  hollow  cylinder  with  two 
grooves  on  it,  a  cylinder  so  tiny  that  it  would  scarcely 
have  slipped  over  the  point  of  a  pencil. 

"Where  did  you  find  it?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

He  pointed  to  the  wound.  "Sticking  in  the  sev- 
ered end  of  a  piece  of  vein,"  he  replied,  half  to  him- 
self, "cuffed  over  the  end  of  the  radial  artery  which 
had  been  severed,  and  done  so  neatly  as  to  be  prac- 
tically hidden.  It  was  done  so  cleverly  that  the  inner 
linings  of  the  vein  and  artery,  the  endothelium  as  it 
is  called,  were  in  complete  contact  with  each  other." 

As  I  looked  at  the  little  silver  thing  and  at  Ken- 
nedy's face,  which  betrayed  nothing,  I  felt  that  here 
indeed  was  a  mystery.  What  new  scientific  engine  of 
death  was  that  little  hollow  cylinder? 

"Next  I  should  like  to  visit  the  laboratory,"  he  re- 
marked simply. 

Fortunately,  the  laboratory  had  been  shut  and 
nothing  had  been  disturbed  except  by  the  undertaker 
and  his  men  who  had  carried  the  body  away.  Strong 
had  left  word  that  he  had  gone  to  Boston,  where,  in 
a  safe  deposit  box,  was  a  sealed  envelope  in  which 
Oushing  kept  a  copy  of  the  combination  of  his  safe, 
which  had  died  with  him.  There  was,  therefore,  no 
hope  of  seeing  the  assistant  until  the  morning. 

Kennedy  found  plenty  to  occupy  his  time  in  his 
minute  investigation  of  the  laboratory.  There,  for 
instance,  was  the  pool  of  blood  leading  back  by  a  thin 
dark  stream  to  the  workbench  and  its  terrible  figure, 


232  The  Dream  Doctor 

which  I  could  almost  picture  to  myself  lying  there 
through  the  silent  hours  of  the  night  before,  with  its 
life  blood  slowly  oozing  away,  unconscious,  powerless 
to  save  itself.  There  were  spurts  of  arterial  blood 
on  the  floor  and  on  the  nearby  laboratory  furniture, 
and  beside  the  workbench  another  smaller  and  iso- 
lated pool  of  blood. 

On  a  table  in  a  corner  by  the  window  stood  a  mi- 
croscope which  Gushing  evidently  used,  and  near  it  a 
box  of  fresh  sterilised  slides.  Kennedy,  who  had 
been  casting  his  eye  carefully  about  taking  in  the 
whole  laboratory,  seemed  delighted  to  find  the  slides. 
He  opened  the  box  and  gingerly  took  out  some  of  the 
little  oblong  pieces  of  glass,  on  each  of  which  he 
dropped  a  couple  of  minute  drops  of  blood  from  the 
arterial  spurts  and  the  venous  pools  on  the  floor. 

Near  the  workbench  were  circular  marks,  much  as 
if  some  jars  had  been  set  down  there.  We  were 
watching  him,  almost  in  awe  at  the  matter  of  fact 
manner  in  which  he  was  proceeding  in  what  to  us 
was  nothing  but  a  hopeless  enigma,  when  I  saw  him 
stoop  and  pick  up  a  few  little  broken  pieces  of  glass. 
There  seemed  to  be  blood  spots  on  the  glass,  as  on 
other  things,  but  particularly  interesting  to  him. 

A  moment  later  I  saw  that  he  was  holding  in  his 
hand  what  were  apparently  the  remains  of  a  little 
broken  vial  which  he  had  fitted  together  from  the 
pieces.  Evidently  it  had  been  used  and  dropped  in 
haste. 

"A  vial  for  a  local  anesthetic,"  he  remarked.  "This 
is  the  sort  of  thing  that  might  be  injected  into  an  arm 
or  leg  and  deaden  the  pain  of  a  cut,  but  that  is  all. 


The  Vampire  233 

It  wouldn't  affect  the  consciousness  or  prevent  any- 
one from  resisting  a  murderer  to  the  last.  I  doubt 
if  that  had  anything  directly  to  do  with  his  death, 
or  perhaps  even  that  this  is  Cushing's  blood  on  it." 

Unlike  Winslow  I  had  seen  Kennedy  in  action  so 
many  times  that  I  knew  it  was  useless  to  speculate. 
But  I  was  fascinated,  for  the  deeper  we  got  into  the 
case,  the  more  unusual  and  inexplicable  it  seemed. 
I  gave  that  end  of  it  up,  but  the  fact  that  Strong  had 
gone  to  secure  the  combination  of  the  safe  suggested 
to  me  to  examine  that  article.  There  was  certainly 
no  evidence  of  robbery  or  even  of  an  attempt  at  rob- 
bery there. 

"Was  any  doctor  called?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  "Though  I  knew  it  was  of  no 
use  I  called  in  Dr.  Howe,  who  lives  up  the  street  from 
the  laboratory.  I  should  have  called  Dr.  Harris, 
who  used  to  be  my  own  physician,  but  since  his  re- 
turn from  Africa  with  the  Borland  expedition,  he  has 
not  been  in  very  good  health  and  has  practically 
given  up  his  practice.  Dr.  Howe  is  the  best  prac- 
tising physician  in  town,  I  think." 

"We  shall  call  on  him  to-morrow,"  said  Craig, 
snapping  his  watch,  which  already  marked  far  after 
midnight. 

Dr.  Howe  proved,  the  next  day,  to  be  an  athletic- 
looking  man,  and  I  could  not  help  noticing  and  ad- 
miring his  powerful  frame  and  his  hearty  handshake, 
as  he  greeted  us  when  we  dropped  into  his  office  with 
a  card  from  Winslow. 

The  doctor's  theory  was  that  Gushing  had  commit- 
ted suicide. 


234  The  Dream  Doctor 

"But  why  should  a  young  man  who  had  invented 
a  new  method  of  polymerising  isoprene,  who  was  go- 
ing to  become  wealthy,  and  was  engaged  to  a  beauti- 
ful young  girl,  commit  suicide?" 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders.  It  was  evident 
that  he,  too,  belonged  to  the  "natural  rubber  set" 
which  dominated  Goodyear. 

"I  haven't  looked  into  the  case  very  deeply,  but  I'm 
not  so  sure  that  he  had  the  secret,  are  you?" 

Kennedy  smiled.  "That  is  what  I'd  like  to  know. 
1  suppose  that  an  expert  like  Mr.  Borland  could  tell 
me,  perhaps?" 

"I  should  think  so." 

"Where  is  his  office?"  asked  Craig.  "Could  you 
point  it  out  to  me  from  the  window?" 

Kennedy  was  standing  by  one  of  the  windows  of 
the  doctor's  office,  and  as  he  spoke  he  turned  and  drew 
a  little  field  glass  from  his  pocket.  "Which  end  of 
the  rubber  works  is  it?" 

Dr.  Howe  tried  to  direct  him  but  Kennedy  ap- 
peared unwarrantably  obtuse,  requiring  the  doctor 
to  raise  the  window,  and  it  was  some  moments  before 
he  got  his  glasses  on  the  right  spot. 

Kennedy  and  I  thanked  the  doctor  for  his  courtesy 
and  left  the  office. 

We  went  at  once  to  the  office  of  Dr.  Harris,  to 
whom  Winslow  had  also  given  us  cards.  We  found 
him  an  anemic  man,  half  asleep.  Kennedy  tenta- 
tively suggested  the  murder  of  Cushirig. 

"Well,  if  you  ask  me  my  opinion,"  snapped  out  the 
doctor,  "although  I  wasn't  called  into  the  case,  from 
what  I  hear,  I'd  say  that  he  was  murdered." 


The  Vampire  235 

"Some  seem  to  think  it  was  suicide,"  prompted 
Kennedy. 

"People  who  have  brilliant  prospects  and  are  en- 
gaged to  pretty  girls  don't  usually  die  of  their  own 
accord,"  rasped  Harris. 

"So  you  think  he  really  did  have  the  secret  of  arti- 
ficial rubber?"  asked  Craig. 

"Not  artificial  rubber.  Synthetic  rubber.  It  was 
the  real  thing,  I  believe." 

"Did  Mr.  Borland  and  his  new  chemist  Lathrop 
believe  it,  too?" 

"I  can't  say.  But  I  should  surely  advise  you  to  see 
them."  The  doctor's  face  was  twitching  nervously. 

"Where  is  Borland's  office?"  repeated  Kennedy, 
again  taking  from  his  pocket  the  field  glass  and  ad- 
justing it  carefully  by  the  window. 

"Over  there,"  directed  Harris,  indicating  the  cor- 
ner of  the  works  to  which  we  had  already  been  di- 
rected. 

Kennedy  had  stepped  closer  to  the  window  before 
him  and  I  stood  beside  him  looking  out  also. 

"The  cut  was  a  very  peculiar  one,"  remarked  Ken- 
nedy, still  adjusting  the  glasses.  "An  artery  and  a 
vein  had  been  placed  together  so  that  the  endothelium, 
or  inner  lining  of  each,  was  in  contact  with  the  other, 
giving  a  continuous  serous  surface.  Which  window 
did  you  say  was  Borland's?  I  wish  you'd  step  to  the 
other  window  and  raise  it,  so  that  I  can  be  sure.  I 
don't  want  to  go  wandering  all  over  the  works  look- 
ing for  him." 

"Yes,"  the  doctor  said  as  he  went,  leaving  him 
standing  beside  the  window  from  which  lie  had  been 


236  The  Dream  Doctor 

directing  us,  "yes,  you  surely  should  see  Mr.  Borland. 
And  don't  forget  that  young  chemist  of  his,  Lathrop, 
either.  If  I  can  be  of  any  more  help  to  you,  come 
back  again." 

It  was  a  long  walk  through  the  village  and  factory 
yards  to  the  office  of  Lewis  Borland,  but  we  were 
amply  repaid  by  finding  him  in  and  ready  to  see  us. 
Borland  was  a  typical  Yankee,  tall,  thin,  evidently 
predisposed  to  indigestion,  a  man  of  tremendous  men- 
tal and  nervous  energy  and  with  a  hidden  wiry 
strength. 

"Mr.  Borland/'  introduced  Kennedy,  changing  his 
tactics  and  adopting  a  new  role,  "I've  come  down  to 
you  as  an  authority  on  rubber  to  ask  you  what  your 
opinion  is  regarding  the  invention  of  a  townsman  of 
yours  named  Gushing." 

"Gushing?"  repeated  Borland  in  some  surprise. 
"Why— " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Kennedy,  "I  understand  all 
about  it.  I  had  heard  of  his  invention  in  New  York 
and  would  have  put  some  money  into  it  if  I  could  have 
been  convinced.  I  was  to  see  him  to-day,  but  of 
course,  as  you  were  going  to  say,  his  death  prevents 
it.  Still,  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  think  about 
it." 

"Well,"  Borland  added,  jerking  out  his  words 
nervously,  as  seemed  to  be  his  habit,  "Gushing  was  a 
bright  young  fellow.  He  used  to  work  for  me  until 
he  began  to  know  too  much  about  the  rubber  busi- 
ness." 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  his  scheme  T'  insin- 
uated Kennedy. 


The  Vampire  23V 

"Very  little,  except  that  it  was  not  patented  yet,  I 
believe,  though  he  told  every  one  that  the  patent  was 
applied  for  and  he  expected  to  get  a  basic  patent  in 
some  way  without  any  interference." 

"Well,"  drawled  Kennedy,  affecting  as  nearly  as 
possible  the  air  of  a  promoter,  "if  I  could  get  his  as- 
sistant, or  some  one  who  had  authority  to  be  present, 
would  you,  as  a  practical  rubber  man,  go  over  to  his 
laboratory  with  me?  I'd  join  you  in  making  an  offer 
to  his  estate  for  the  rights  to  the  process,  if  it  seemed 
any  good." 

"You're  a  cool  one,"  ejaculated  Borland,  with  a 
peculiar  avaricious  twinkle  in  the  corners  of  his  eyes. 
"His  body  is  scarcely  cold  and  yet  you  come  around 
proposing  to  buy  out  his  invention  and — and,  of  all 
persons,  you  come  to  me." 

"To  you?"  inquired  Kennedy  blandly. 

"Yes,  to  me.  Don't  you  know  that  synthetic  rub- 
ber would  ruin  the  business  system  that  I  have  built 
up  here?" 

Still  Craig  persisted  and  argued. 

"Young  man,"  said  Borland  rising  at  length  as  if 
an  idea  had  struck  him,  "I  like  your  nerve.  Yes,  I 
will  go.  I'll  show  you  that  I  don't  fear  any  compe- 
tition from  rubber  made  out  of  fusel  oil  or  any  other 
old  kind  of  oil."  He  rang  a  bell  and  a  boy  answered. 
"Call  Lathrop,"  he  ordered. 

The  young  chemist,  Lathrop,  proved  to  be  a  bright 
and  active  man  of  the  new  school,  though  a  good  deal 
of  a  rubber  stamp.  Whenever  it  was  compatible 
with  science  and  art,  he  readily  assented  to  every 
proposition  that  his  employer  laid  down. 


238  The  Dream  Doctor 

Kennedy  had  already  telephoned  to  the  Winslows 
and  Miss  Winslow  had  answered  that  Strong  had  re- 
turned from  Boston.  After  a  little  parleying,  the  sec- 
ond visit  to  the  laboratory  was  arranged  and  Miss 
Winslow  was  allowed  to  be  present  with  her  father, 
after  Kennedy  had  been  assured  by  Strong  that  the 
gruesome  relics  of  the  tragedy  would  be  cleared  away. 

It  was  in  the  forenoon  that  we  arrived  with  Bor- 
land and  Lathrop.  I  could  not  help  noticing  the  cor- 
dial manner  with  which  Borland  greeted  Miss 
Winslow.  There  was  something  obtrusive  even  in 
his  sympathy.  Strong,  whom  we  met  now  for  the 
first  time,  seemed  rather  suspicious  of  the  presence 
of  Borland  and  his  chemist,  but  made  an  effort  to  talk 
freely  without  telling  too  much. 

"Of  course  you  know,"  commenced  Strong  after 
proper  urging,  "that  it  has  long  been  the  desire  of 
chemists  to  synthesise  rubber  by  a  method  that  will 
make  possible  its  cheap  production  on  a  large  scale. 
In  a  general  way  I  know  what  Mr.  Gushing  had  done, 
but  there  are  parts  of  the  process  which  are  covered 
in  the  patents  applied  for,  of  which  I  am  not  at  liberty 
to  speak  yet." 

"Where  are  the  papers  in  the  case,  the  documents 
showing  the  application  for  the  patent,  for  instance?" 
asked  Kennedy. 

"In  the  safe,  sir,"  replied  Strong. 

Strong  set  to  work  on  the  combination  which  he 
had  obtained  from  the  safe  deposit  vault.  I  could 
see  that  Borland  and  Miss  Winslow  were  talking  in  a 
low  tone. 

"Are  you  sure  that  it  is  a  fact?"  I  overheard  him 


The  Vampire  239 

ask,  though  I  had  no  idea  what  they  were  talking 
about. 

"As  sure  as  I  am  that  the  Borland  Kubber  Works 
are  a  fact,"  she  replied. 

Craig  also  seemed  to  have  overheard,  for  he  turned 
quickly.  Borland  had  taken  out  his  penknife  and 
vas  moistening  the  blade  carefully  preparing  to  cut 
into  a  piece  of  the  synthetic  rubber.  In  spite  of  his 
expressed  scepticism,  I  could  see  that  he  was  eager  to 
learn  what  the  product  was  really  like. 

Strong,  meanwhile,  had  opened  the  safe  and  was 
going  over  the  papers.  A  low  exclamation  from  him 
brought  us  around  the  little  pile  of  documents.  He 
was  holding  a  will  in  which  nearly  everything  belong- 
ing to  Gushing  was  left  to  Miss  Winslow. 

Not  a  word  was  said,  although  I  noticed  that  Ken- 
nedy moved  quickly  to  her  side,  fearing  that  the 
shock  of  the  discovery  might  have  a  bad  effect  on  her, 
but  she  took  it  with  remarkable  calmness.  It  was 
apparent  that  Gushing  had  taken  the  step  of  his  own 
accord  and  had  said  nothing  to  her  about  it. 

"What  does  anything  amount  to?"  she  said  tremu- 
lously at  last.  "The  dream  is  dead  without  him  in 
it." 

"Come,"  urged  Kennedy  gently.  "This  is  enough 
for  to-day." 

An  hour  later  we  were  speeding  back  to  New  York. 
Kennedy  had  no  apparatus  to  work  with  out  at  Good- 
year and  could  not  improvise  it.  Winslow  agreed 
to  keep  us  in  touch  with  any  new  developments  dur- 
ing the  few  hours  that  Craig  felt  it  was  necessary  to 
leave  the  scene  of  action. 

16 


240  The  Dream  Doctor 

Back  again  in  New  York,  Craig  took  a  cab  directly 
for  his  laboratory,  leaving  me  marooned  with  instruc- 
tions not  to  bother  him  for  several  hours.  I  em- 
ployed the  time  in  a  little  sleuthing  on  my  own  ac- 
count, endeavouring  to  look  up  the  records  of  those 
involved  in  the  case.  I  did  not  discover  much,  ex- 
cept an  interview  that  had  been  given  at  the  time  of 
the  return  of  his  expedition  by  Borland  to  the  Star,  in 
which  he  gave  a  graphic  description  of  the  dangers 
from  disease  that  they  had  encountered. 

I  mention  it  because,  though  it  did  not  impress  me 
much  when  I  read  it,  it  at  once  leaped  into  my  mind 
when  the  interminable  hours  were  over  and  I  rejoined 
Kennedy.  He  was  bending  over  a  new  microscope. 

"This  is  a  rubber  age,  Walter,"  he  began,  "and  the 
stories  of  men  who  have  been  interested  in  rubber 
often  sound  like  fiction." 

He  slipped  a  slide  under  the  microscope,  looked  at 
it  and  then  motioned  to  me  to  do  the  same.  "Here  is 
a  very  peculiar  culture  which  I  have  found  in  some 
of  that  blood,"  he  commented.  "The  germs  are  much 
larger  than  bacteria  and  they  can  be  seen  with  a  com- 
paratively low  power  microscope  swiftly  darting  be- 
tween the  blood  cells,  brushing  them  aside,  but  not 
penetrating  them  as  some  parasites,  like  that  of  ma- 
laria, do.  Besides,  spectroscope  tests  show  the  pres- 
ence of  a  rather  well-known  chemical  in  that  blood." 

"A  poisoning,  then?"  I  ventured.  "Perhaps  he 
suffered  from  the  disease  that  many  rubber  workers 
get  from  the  bisulphide  of  carbon.  He  must  have 
done  a  good  deal  of  vulcanising  of  his  own  rubber, 
you  know." 


The  Vampire  241 

"No,"  smiled  Craig  enigmatically,  "it  wasn't  that. 
It  was  an  arsenic  derivative.  Here's  another  thing. 
You  remember  the  field  glass  I  used?" 

He  had  picked  it  up  from  the  table  and  was  point- 
ing at  a  little  hole  in  the  side,  that  had  escaped  my 
notice  before.  "This  is  what  you  might  call  a  right- 
angled  camera.  I  point  the  glass  out  of  the  window 
and  while  you  think  I  am  looking  through  it  I  am 
really  focusing  it  on  you  and  taking  your  picture 
standing  there  beside  me  and  out  of  my  apparent  line 
of  vision.  It  would  deceive  the  most  wary." 

Just  then  a  long-distance  call  from  Winslow  told 
us  that  Borland  had  been  to  call  on  Miss  Ruth  and, 
in  as  kindly  a  way  as  could  be,  had  offered  her  half  a 
million  dollars  for  her  rights  in  the  new  patent.  At 
once  it  flashed  over  me  that  he  was  trying  to  get  con- 
trol of  and  suppress  the  invention  in  the  interests  of 
his  own  company,  a  thing  that  has  been  done  hun- 
dreds of  times.  Or  could  it  all  have  been  part  of  a 
conspiracy?  And  if  it  was  his  conspiracy,  would  he 
succeed  in  tempting  his  friend,  Miss  Winslow,  to  fall 
in  with  this  glittering  offer? 

Kennedy  evidently  thought,  also,  that  the  time  for 
action  had  come,  for  without  a  word  he  set  to  work 
packing  his  apparatus  and  we  were  again  headed  for 
Goodyear. 


XVI 

The  Blood  Test 

WE  arrived  late  at  night,  or  rather  in  the  morn- 
ing, but  in  spite  of  the  late  hour  Kennedy 
was  up  early  urging  me  to  help  him  carry  the  stuff 
over  to  Cushing's  laboratory.  By  the  middle  of  the 
morning  he  was  ready  and  had  me  scouring  about 
town  collecting  his  audience,  which  consisted  of  the 
Winslows,  Borland  and  Lathrop,  Dr.  Howe,  Dr.  Har- 
ris, Strong  and  myself.  The  Irboratory  was  dark- 
ened and  Kennedy  took  his  place  beside  an  electric 
moving  picture  apparatus. 

The  first  picture  was  different  from  anything  any 
of  us  had  ever  seen  on  a  screen  before.  It  seemed  to 
be  a  mass  of  little  dancing  globules.  "This,"  ex- 
plained Kennedy,  "is  what  you  would  call  an  educa- 
tional moving  picture,  I  suppose.  It  shows  normal 
blood  corpuscles  as  they  are  in  motion  in  the  blood  of 
a  healthy  man.  Those  little  round  cells  are  the  red 
corpuscles  and  the  larger  irregular  cells  are  the  white 
corpuscles." 

He  stopped  the  film.  The  next  picture  was  a  sort 
of  enlarged  and  elongated  house  fly,  apparently,  of 
sombre  grey  color,  with  a  narrow  body,  thick  pro- 
boscis and  wings  that  overlapped  like  the  blades  of  a 
pair  of  shears. 

"This,"  he  went  on,  "is  a  picture  of  the  now  well- 

242 


The  Blood  Test  243 

known  tse-tse  fly  found  over  a  large  area  of  Africa. 
It  has  a  bite  something  like  a  horse-fly  and  is  a  per- 
fect blood-sucker.  Vast  territories  of  thickly  popu- 
lated, fertile  country  near  the  shores  of  lakes  and 
rivers  are  now  depopulated  as  a  result  of  the  death- 
dealing  bite  of  these  flies,  more  deadly  than  the  blood- 
sucking, vampirish  ghosts  with  which,  in  tne  middle 
ages,  people  supposed  night  air  to  be  inhabited.  For 
this  fly  carries  with  it  germs  which  it  leaves  in  the 
blood  of  its  victims,  which  I  shall  show  next." 

A  new  film  started. 

"Here  is  a  picture  of  some  blood  so  infected.  No- 
tice that  worm-like  sheath  of  undulating  membrane 
terminating  in  a  slender  whip-like  process  by  which 
it  moves  about.  That  thing  wriggling  about  like  a 
minute  electric  eel,  always  in  motion,  is  known  as 
the  trypanosome. 

"Isn't  this  a  marvellous  picture?  To  see  the  mi- 
cro-organism move,  evolve  and  revolve  in  the  midst  of 
normal  cells,  uncoil  and  undulate  in  the  fluids  which 
they  inhabit,  to  see  them  play  hide  and  seek  with  the 
blood  corpuscles  and  clumps  of  fibrin,  turn,  twist, 
and  rotate  as  if  in  a  cage,  to  see  these  deadly  little 
trypanosomes  moving  back  and  forth  in  every  direc- 
tion displaying  their  delicate  undulating  membranes 
and  shoving  aside  the  blood  cells  that  are  in  their 
way  while  by  their  side  the  leucocytes,  or  white  cor- 
puscles, lazily  extend  or  retract  their  pseudopods  of 
protoplasm.  To  see  all  this  as  it  is  shown  before  us 
here  is  to  realise  that  we  are  in  the  presence  of  an  un- 
known world,  a  world  infinitesimally  small,  but  as 
real  and  as  complex  as  that  about  us.  With  the  cin- 


244  The  Dream  Doctor 

ematograph  and  the  ultra-microscope  we  can  see  what 
no  other  forms  of  photography  can  reproduce. 

"I  have  secured  these  pictures  so  that  I  can  better 
mass  up  the  evidence  against  a  certain  person  in  this 
room.  For  in  the  blood  of  one  of  you  is  now  going  on 
the  fight  which  you  have  here  seen  portrayed  by  the 
picture  machine.  Notice  how  the  blood  corpuscles 
in  this  infected  blood  have  lost  their  smooth,  glossy 
appearance,  become  granular  and  incapable  of  nour- 
ishing the  tissues.  The  trypanosomes  are  fighting 
with  the  normal  blood  cells.  Here  we  have  the  low- 
est group  of  animal  life,  the  protozoa,  at  work  killing 
the  highest,  man." 

Kennedy  needed  nothing  more  than  the  breathless 
stillness  to  convince  him  of  the  effectiveness  of  his 
method  of  presenting  his  case. 

"Now,"  he  resumed,  "let  us  leave  this  blood-suck- 
ing, vampirish  tse-tse  fly  for  the  moment.  I  have 
another  revelation  to  make." 

He  laid  down  on  the  table  under  the  lights,  which 
now  flashed  up  again,  the  little  hollow  silver  cylinder. 

"This  little  instrument,"  Kennedy  explained^ 
"which  I  have  here  is  known  as  a  canula,  a  little  ca- 
nal, for  leading  off  blood  from  the  veins  of  one  per- 
son to  another — in  other  words,  blood  transfusion. 
Modern  doctors  are  proving  themselves  quite  success- 
ful in  its  use. 

"Of  course,  like  everything,  it  has  its  own  peculiar 
dangers.  But  the  one  point  I  wish  to  make  is  this: 
In  the  selection  of  a  donor  for  transfusion,  people  fall 
into  definite  groups.  Tests  of  blood  must  be  made 
first  to  see  whether  it  'agglutinates,'  and  in  this  re- 


The  Blood  Test  245 

spect  there  are  four  classes  of  persons.  In  our  case 
this  matter  had  to  be  neglected.  For,  gentlemen, 
there  were  two  kinds  of  blood  on  that  laboratory 
floor,  and  they  do  not  agglutinate.  This,  in  short, 
was  what  actually  happened.  An  attempt  was  made 
to  transfuse  Cushing's  blood  as  donor  to  another 
person  as  recipient.  A  man  suffering  from  the  dis- 
ease caught  from  the  bite  of  the  tse-tse  fly — the 
deadly  sleeping  sickness  so  well  known  in  Africa 
— has  deliberately  tried  a  form  of  robbery  which  I  be- 
lieve to  be  without  parallel.  He  has  stolen  the  blood 
of  another! 

"He  stole  it  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  stay  an  in- 
curable disease.  This  man  had  used  an  arsenic  com- 
pound called  atoxyl,  till  his  blood  was  filled  with  it 
and  its  effects  on  the  trypanosomes  nil.  There  was 
but  one  wild  experiment  more  to  try — the  stolen 
blood  of  another." 

Craig  paused  to  let  the  horror  of  the  crime  sink 
into  our  minds. 

"Some  one  in  the  party  which  went  to  look  over  the 
concession  in  the  Congo  contracted  the  sleeping  sick- 
ness from  the  bites  of  those  blood-sucking  flies.  That 
person  has  now  reached  the  stage  of  insanity,  and  his 
blood  is  full  of  the  germs  and  overloaded  with  atoxyl. 

"Everything  had  been  tried  and  had  failed.  He 
was  doomed.  He  saw  his  fortune  menaced  by  the 
discovery  of  the  way  to  make  synthetic  rubber.  Life 
and  money  were  at  stake.  One  night,  nerved  up  by 
a  fit  of  insane  fury,  with  a  power  far  beyond  what  one 
would  expect  in  his  ordinary  weakened  condition,  he 
saw  a  light  in  Cushing's  laboratory.  He  stole  in 


246  The  Dream  Doctor 

stealthily.  He  seized  the  inventor  with  his  momen- 
tarily superhuman  strength  and  choked  him.  As 
they  struggled  he  must  have  shoved  a  sponge  soaked 
with  ether  and  orange  essence  under  his  nose.  Gush- 
ing went  under. 

"Resistance  overcome  by  the  anesthetic,  he  dragged 
the  now  insensible  form  to  the  work  bench.  Fran- 
tically he  must  have  worked.  He  made  an  incision 
and  exposed  the  radial  artery,  the  pulse.  Then  he 
must  have  administered  a  local  anesthetic  to  himself 
in  his  arm  or  leg.  He  secured  a  vein  and  pushed  the 
cut  end  over  this  little  canula.  Then  he  fitted  the 
artery  of  Cushing  over  that  and  the  blood  that  was, 
perhaps,  to  save  his  life  began  flowing  into  his  de- 
pleted veins. 

"Who  was  this  madman?  I  have  watched  the  ac- 
tions of  those  whom  I  suspected  when  they  did  not 
know  they  were  being  watched.  I  did  it  by  using 
this  neat  little  device  which  looks  like  a  field  glass, 
but  is  really  a  camera  that  takes  pictures  of  things 
at  right  angles  to  the  direction  in  which  the  glass 
seems  to  be  pointed.  One  person,  I  found,  had  a 
wound  on  his  leg,  the  wrapping  of  which  he  adjusted 
nervously  when  he  thought  no  one  was  looking.  He 
had  difficulty  in  limping  even  a  short  distance  to  open 
a  window." 

Kennedy  uncorked  a  bottle  and  the  subtle  odor  of 
oranges  mingled  with  ether  stole  through  the  room. 

"Some  one  here  will  recognize  that  odour  immedi- 
ately. It  is  the  new  orange-essence  vapour  anes- 
thetic, a  mixture  of  essence  of  orange  with  ether  and 
chloroform.  The  odour  hidden  by  the  orange  which 


The  Blood  Tes1.  247 

lingered  in  the  laboratory,  Mr.  Winslow  and  Mr. 
Strong,  was  not  isoprene,  but  really  ether. 

"I  am  letting  some  of  the  odour  escape  here  be- 
cause in  this  very  laboratory  it  was  that  the  thing 
took  place,  and  it  is  one  of  the  well-known  principles 
of  psychology  that  odours  are  powerfully  suggestive. 
In  this  case  the  odour  now  must  suggest  the  terrible 
scene  of  the  other  night  to  some  one  before  me.  More 
than  that,  I  have  to  tell  that  person  that  the  blood 
transfusion  did  not  and  could  not  save  him.  His  ill- 
ness is  due  to  a  condition  that  is  incurable  and  can- 
not be  altered  by  transfusion  of  new  blood.  That 
person  is  just  as  doomed  to-day  as  he  was  before  he 
committed — " 

A  figure  was  groping  blindly  about.  The  arsenic 
compounds  with  which  his  blood  was  surcharged  had 
brought  on  one  of  the  attacks  of  blindness  to  which 
users  of  the  drug  are  subject.  In  his  insane  frenzy 
he  was  evidently  reaching  desperately  for  Kennedy 
himself.  As  he  groped  he  limped  painfully  from  the 
soreness  of  his  wound. 

"Dr.  Harris,"  accused  Kennedy,  avoiding  the  mad 
rush  at  himself,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  that  thrilled 
us,  "you  are  the  man  who  sucked  the  blood  of  Gush- 
ing into  your  own  veins  and  left  him  to  die.  But  the 
state  will  never  be  able  to  exact  from  you  the  penalty 
of  your  crime.  Nature  will  do  that  too  soon  for  jus- 
tice. Gentlemen,  this  is  the  murderer  of  Bradley 
Gushing,  a  maniac,  a  modern  scientific  vampire." 

I  regarded  the  broken,  doomed  man  with  mingled 
pity  and  loathing,  rather  than  with  the  usual  feelings 
one  has  toward  a  criminal. 


248  The  Dream  Doctor 

"Come,"  said  Craig.  "The  local  authorities  can 
take  care  of  this  case  now." 

He  paused  just  long  enough  for  a  word  of  comfort 
to  the  poor,  broken-hearted  girl.  Euth  Winslow  an- 
swered with  a  mute  look  of  gratitude  and  despair. 
In  fact,  in  the  confusion  we  were  only  too  glad  to 
escape  any  more  such  mournful  congratulations. 

"Well,"  Craig  remarked,  as  we  walked  quickly 
down  the  street,  "if  we  have  to  wait  here  for  a  train, 
I  prefer  to  wait  in  the  railroad  station.  I  have  done 
my  part.  Now  my  only  interest  is  to  get  away  before 
they  either  offer  me  a  banquet  or  lynch  me." 

Actually,  I  think  he  would  have  preferred  the  nov- 
elty of  dealing  with  a  lynching  party,  if  he  had  had 
to  choose  between  the  two. 

We  caught  a  train  soon,  however,  and  fortunately 
it  had  a  diner  attached.  Kennedy  whiled  away  the 
time  between  courses  by  reading  the  graft  exposures 
in  the  city. 

As  we  rolled  into  the  station  late  in  the  afternoon, 
he  tossed  aside  the  paper  with  an  air  of  relief. 

"Now  for  a  quiet  evening  in  the  laboratory,"  he  ex- 
claimed, almost  gleefully. 

By  what  stretch  of  imagination  he  could  call  that 
recreation,  I  could  not  see.  But  as  for  quietness,  I 
needed  it,  too.  I  had  fallen  wofully  behind  in  my 
record  of  the  startling  events  through  which  he  was 
conducting  me.  Consequently,  until  late  that  night  I 
pecked  away  at  my  typewriter  trying  to  get  order  out 
of  the  chaos  of  my  hastily  scribbled  notes.  Under 
ordinary  circumstances,  I  remembered,  the  morrow 
would  have  been  my  day  of  rest  on  the  Star.  I  had 


The  Blood  Test  249 

gone  far  enough  with  Kennedy  to  realise  that  on  this 
assignment  there  was  no  such  thing  as  rest. 

"District  Attorney  Carton  wants  to  see  me  imme- 
diately at  the  Criminal  Courts  Building,  Walter," 
announced  Kennedy,  early  the  following  morning. 

Clc'hed,  and  as  much  in  my  right  mind  as  possible 
after  the  arduous  literary  labours  of  the  night  before, 
I  needed  no  urging,  for  Carton  was  an  old  friend  of 
all  the  newspaper  men.  I  joined  Craig  quickly  in  a 
hasty  ride  down-town  in  the  rush  hour. 

On  the  table  before  the  square-jawed,  close-cropped, 
fighting  prosecutor,  whom  I  knew  already  after  many 
a  long  and  hard-fought  campaign  both  before  and 
after  election,  lay  a  little  package  which  had  evidently 
come  to  him  in  the  morning's  mail  by  parcel-post. 

"What  do  you  suppose  is  in  that,  Kennedy?"  he 
asked,  tapping  it  gingerly.  "I  haven't  opened  it  yet, 
but  I  think  it's  a  bomb.  Wait — I'll  have  a  pail  of 
water  sent  in  here  so  that  you  can  open  it,  if  you 
will.  You  understand  such  things." 

"No — no,"  hastened  Kennedy,  "that's  exactly  the 
wrong  thing  to  do.  Some  of  these  modern  chemical 
bombs  are  set  off  in  precisely  that  way.  No.  Let? 
me  dissect  the  thing  carefully.  I  think  you  may  be 
right.  It  does  look  as  if  it  might  be  an  infernal  ma- 
chine. You  see  the  evident  disguise  of  the  roughly 
written  address?" 

Carton  nodded,  for  it  was  that  that  had  excited  his 
suspicion  in  the  first  place.  Meanwhile,  Kennedy, 
without  further  ceremony,  began  carefully  to  remove 
the  wrapper  of  brown  Manila  paper,  preserving  every- 
thing as  he  did  so.  Carton  and  I  instinctively  backed 


250  The  Dream  Doctor 

away.  Inside,  Craig  had  disclosed  an  oblong  wooden 
box. 

"I  realise  that  opening  a  bomb  is  dangerous  busi- 
ness," he  pursued  slowly,  engrossed  in  his  work  and 
almost  oblivious  to  us,  "but  I  think  I  can  take  a 
chance  safely  with  this  fellow.  The  dangerous  part 
is  what  might  be  called  drawing  the  fangs.  No 
bombs  are  exactly  safe  toys  to  have  around  until  they 
are  wholly  destroyed,  and  before  you  can  say  you 
have  destroyed  one,  it  is  rather  a  ticklish  business  to 
take  out  the  dangerous  element." 

He  had  removed  the  cover  in  the  deftest  manner 
without  friction,  and  seemingly  without  disturbing 
the  contents  in  the  least.  I  do  not  pretend  to  know 
how  he  did  it;  but  the  proof  was  that  we  could  see  him 
still  working  from  our  end  of  the  room. 

On  the  inside  of  the  cover  was  roughly  drawn  a 
skull  and  cross-bones,  showing  that  the  miscreant 
who  sent  the  thing  had  at  least  a  sort  of  grim  humour. 
For,  where  the  teeth  should  have  been  in  the  skull 
were  innumerable  match-heads.  Kennedy  picked 
them  out  with  as  much  sang-froid  as  if  he  were  not 
playing  jackstraws  with  life  and  death. 

Then  he  removed  the  explosive  itself  and  the  vari- 
ous murderous  slugs  and  bits  of  metal  embedded  in 
it,  carefully  separating  each  as  if  to  be  labelled  "Ex- 
hibit A,"  "B,"  and  so  on  for  a  class  in  bomb  dissec- 
tion. Finally,  he  studied  the  sides  and  bottom  of  the 
box. 

"Evidence  of  chlorate-of-potash  mixture,"  Ken- 
nedy muttered,  to  himself,  still  examining  the  bomb. 


The  Blood  Test  251 

"The  inside  was  a  veritable  arsenal — a  very  unusual 
and  clever  construction." 

"My  heavens!"  breathed  Carton.     "I  would  rather 
go  through  a  campaign  again.'* 


XVII 

The  Bomb  Maker 

WE  stared  at  each  other  in  blank  awe,  at  the  va- 
rious parts,  so  innocent  looking  in  the  heaps 
on  the  table,  now  safely  separated,  but  together  a 
combination  ticket  to  perdition. 

"Who  do  you  suppose  could  have  sent  it?"  I  blurted 
out  when  I  found  iny  voice,  then,  suddenly  recollect- 
ing the  political  and  legal  fight  that  Carton  was  en- 
gaged in  at  the  time,  I  added,  "The  white  slavers?" 

"Not  a  doubt,"  he  returned  laconically.  "And," 
lie  exclaimed,  bringing  down  both  hands  vigorously 
in  characteristic  emphasis  on  the  arms  of  his  office 
chair,  "I've  got  to  win  this  fight  against  the  vice  trust, 
as  I  call  it,  or  the  whole  work  of  the  district  attor- 
ney's office  in  clearing  up  the  city  will  be  discredited 
— to  say  nothing  of  the  risk  the  present  incumbent 
runs  at  having  such  grateful  friends  about  the  city 
send  marks  of  their  affection  and  esteem  like  this." 

I  knew  something  already  of  the  situation,  and 
Carton  continued  thoughtfully:  "All  the  powers  of 
vice  are  fighting  a  last-ditch  battle  against  me  now. 
I  think  I  am  on  the  trail  of  the  man  or  men  higher  up 
in  this  commercialised-vice  business — and  it  is  a  busi- 
ness, big  business,  too.  You  know,  I  suppose,  that 
they  seem  to  have  a  string  of  hotels  in  the  city,  of  the 
worst  character.  There  is  nothing  that  they  will 

252 


The  Bomb  Maker  253 

stop  at  to  protect  themselves.  Why,  they  are  using 
gangs  of  thugs  to  terrorise  any  one  who  informs  on 
them.  The  gunmen,  of  course,  hate  a  snitch  worse 
than  poison.  There  have  been  bomb  outrages,  too — 
nearly  a  bomb  a  day  lately — against  some  of  those 
who  look  shaky  and  seem  to  be  likely  to  do  business 
with  my  office.  But  I'm  getting  closer  all  the  time." 
•  "How  do  you  mean?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"Well,  one  of  the  best  witnesses,  if  I  can  break  him 
down  by  pressure  and  promises,  ought  to  be  a  man 
named  Haddon,  who  is  running  a  place  in  the  Fifties, 
known  as  the  Mayfair.  Haddon  knows  all  these 
people.  I  can  get  him  in  half  an  hour  if  you  think 
it  worth  while — not  here,  but  somewhere  uptown,  say 
at  the  Prince  Henry." 

Kennedy  nodded.  We  had  heard  of  Haddon  be- 
fore, a  notorious  character  in  the  white-light  district. 
A  moment  later  Carton  had  telephoned  to  the  May- 
fair  and  had  found  Haddon. 

"How  did  you  get  him  so  that  he  is  even  consid- 
ering turning  state's  evidence?"  asked  Craig. 

"Well,"  answered  Carton  slowly,  "I  suppose  it  was 
partly  through  a  cabaret  singer  and  dancer,  Loraine 
Keith,  at  the  Mayfair.  You  know  you  never  get  the 
truth  about  things  in  the  underworld  except  in  pieces. 
As  much  as  any  one,  I  think  we  have  been  able  to 
use  her  to  weave  a  web  about  him.  Besides,  she  seems 
to  think  that  Haddon  has  treated  her  shamefully. 
According  to  her  story,  he  seems  to  have  been  lavish- 
ing everything  on  her,  but  lately,  for  some  reason,  has 
deserted  her.  Still,  even  in  her  jealousy  she  does  not 
accuse  any  other  woman  of  winning  him  away." 


254  The  Dream  Doctor 

"Perhaps  it  is  the  opposite — another  man  winning 
her,"  suggested  Craig  dryly. 

"It's  a  peculiar  situation,"  shrugged  Carton. 
"There  is  another  man.  A.S  nearly  as  I  can  make  out 
there  is  a  fellow  named  Brodie  who  does  a  dance  with 
her.  But  he  seems  to  annoy  her,  yet  at  the  same  time 
exercises  a  sort  of  fascination  over  her." 

"Then  she  is  dancing  at  the  Mayfair  yet?"  hastily 
asked  Craig. 

"Yes.     I  told  her  to  stay,  not  to  excite  suspicion." 

"And  Haddon  knows?" 

"Oh,  no.  But  she  has  told  us  enough  about  him 
already  so  that  we  can  worry  him,  apparently,  just 
as  what  he  can  tell  us  would  worry  the  others  inter- 
ested in  the  hotels.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  think  she  is 
a  drug  fiend.  Why,  my  men  tell  me  that  they  have 
seen  her  take  just  a  sniff  of  something  and  change  in- 
stantly— become  a  willing  tool." 

"That's  the  way  it  happens,"  commented  Kennedy. 

"Now,  I'll  go  up  there  and  meet  Haddon,"  resumed 
Carton.  "After  I  have  been  with  him  long  enough 
to  get  into  his  confidence,  suppose  you  two  just  hap- 
pen along." 

Half  an  hour  later  Kennedy  and  I  sauntered  into 
the  Prince  Henry,  where  Carton  had  made  the  ap- 
pointment in  order  to  avoid  suspicion  that  might 
arise  if  he  were  seen  with  Haddon  at  the  Mayfair. 

The  /  two  men  were  waiting  for  us — Haddon,  by 
contrast  with  Carton,  a  weak-faced,  nervous  man,  with 
bulgy  eyes. 

"Mr.  Haddon,"  introduced  Carton,  "let  me  present 
a  couple  of  reporters  from  the  Star — off  duty,  so  that 


The  Bomb  Maker  255 

we  can  talk  freely  before  them,  I  can  assure  you. 
Good  fellows,  too,  Haddon." 

The  hotel  and  cabaret  keeper  smiled  a  sickly  smile 
and  greeted  us  with  a  covert,  questioning  glance. 

"This  attack  on  Mr.  Carton  has  unnerved  me,"  he 
shivered.  "If  any  one  dares  to  do  that  to  him,  what 
will  they  do  to  me?" 

"Don't  get  cold  feet,  Haddon,"  urged  Carton. 
"You'll  be  all  right.  I'll  swing  it  for  you." 

Haddon  made  no  reply.  At  length  he  remarked: 
"You'll  excuse  me  for  a  moment.  I  must  telephone 
to  my  hotel." 

He  entered  a  booth  in  the  shadow  of  the  back  of 
the  caf6,  where  there  was  a  slot-machine  pay-station. 
"I  think  Haddon  has  his  suspicions,"  remarked  Car- 
ton, "although  he  is  too  prudent  to  say  anything 
yet." 

A  moment  later  he  returned.  Something  seemed 
to  have  happened.  He  looked  less  nervous.  His  face 
was  brighter  and  his  eyes  clearer.  What  was  it,  I 
wondered?  Could  it  be  that  he  was  playing  a  game 
with  Carton  and  had  given  him  a  double  cross?  I 
was  quite  surprised  at  his  next  remark. 

"Carton,"  he  said  confidently,  "I'll  stick." 

"Good,"  exclaimed  the  district  attorney,  as  they 
fell  into  a  conversation  in  low  tones. 

"By  the  way,"  drawled  Kennedy,  "I  must  telephone 
to  the  office  in  case  they  need  me." 

He  had  risen  and  entered  the  same  booth. 

Haddon  and  Carton  were  still  talking  earnestly. 
It  was  evident  that,  for  some  reason,  Haddon  had  lost 
jiis  former  halting  manner.  Perhaps,  I  reasoned,  the 

17 


256  The  Dream  Doctor 

bomb  episode  had,  after  all,  thrown  a  scare  into  him, 
and  he  felt  that  he  needed  protection  against  his  own 
associates,  who  were  quick  to  discover  such  dealings 
as  Carton  had  forced  him  into.  I  rose  and  lounged 
back  to  the  booth  and  Kennedy. 

"Whom  did  he  call?"  I  whispered,  when  Craig 
emerged  perspiring  from  the  booth,  for  I  knew  that 
that  was  his  purpose. 

Craig  glanced  at  Haddon,  who  now  seemed  ab- 
sorbed in  talking  to  Carton.  "No  one,"  he  answered 
quickly.  "Central  told  me  there  had  not  been  a  call 
from  this  pay-station  for  half  an  hour." 

"No  one?"  I  echoed  almost  incredulously.  "Then 
what  did  he  do?  Something  happened,  all  right." 

Kennedy  was  evidently  engrossed  in  his  own 
thoughts,  for  he  said  nothing. 

"Haddon  says  he  wants  to  do  some  scouting 
about,"  announced  Carton,  when  we  rejoined  them. 
"There  are  several  people  whom  he  says  he  might  sus- 
pect. I've  arranged  to  meet  him  this  afternoon  to 
get  the  first  part  of  this  story  about  the  inside  work- 
ing of  the  vice  trust,  and  he  will  let  me  know  if  any- 
thing develops  then.  You  will  be  at  your  office?" 

"Yes,  one  or  the  other  of  us,"  returned  Craig,  in 
a  tone  which  Haddon  could  not  hear. 

In  the  meantime  we  took  occasion  to  make  some 
inquiries  of  our  own  about  Haddon  and  Loraine 
Keith.  They  were  evidently  well  known  in  the  select 
circle  in  which  they  travelled.  Haddon  had  many 
curious  characteristics,  chief  of  which  to  interest  Ken- 
nedy was  his  speed  mania.  Time  and  again  he  had 
been  arrested  for  exceeding  the  speed  limit  in  taxi- 


The  Bomb  Maker  257 

cabs  and  in  a  car  of  bis  own,  often  in  the  past  with 
Loraine  Keith,  but  lately  alone. 

It  was  toward  the  close  of  the  afternoon  that  Carton 
called  up  hurriedly.  As  Kennedy  hung  up  the  re- 
ceiver, I  read  on  his  face  that  something  had  gone 
wrong. 

"Haddon  has  disappeared,"  he  announced,  "mys- 
teriously and  suddenly,  without  leaving  so  much  as  a 
clue.  It  seems  that  he  found  in  his  office  a  package 
exactly  like  that  which  was  sent  to  Carton  earlier  in 
the  day.  He  didn't  wait  to  say  anything  about  it, 
but  left.  Carton  is  bringing  it  over  here.*' 

Perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Carton  himself 
deposited  the  package  on  the  laboratory  table  with 
an  air  of  relief.  We  looked  eagerly.  It  was  ad- 
dressed to  Haddon  at  the  Mayfair  in  the  same  dis- 
guised handwriting  and  was  done  up  in  precisely  the 
same  fashion. 

"Lots  of  bombs  are  just  scare  bombs,"  observed 
Craig.  "But  you  never  can  tell." 

Again  Kennedy  had  started  to  dissect. 

"Ah,"  he  went  on,  "this  is  the  real  thing,  though, 
only  a  little  different  from  the  other.  A  dry  bat- 
tery gives  a  spark  when  the  lid  is  slipped  back.  See, 
the  explosive  is  in  a  steel  pipe.  Sliding  the  lid  off 
is  supposed  to  explode  it.  Why,  there  is  enough  ex- 
plosive in  this  to  have  silenced  a  dozen  Haddons." 

"Do  you  think  he  could  have  been  kidnapped  or 
murdered?"  I  asked.  "What  is  this,  anyhow — gang- 
war?" 

"Or  perhaps  bribed?"  suggested  Carton. 

"I  can't  say,"  ruminated  Kennedy.     "But  I  can  say 


258  The  Dream  Doctor 

this :  that  there  is  at  large  in  this  city  a  man  of  great 
mechanical  skill  and  practical  knowledge  of  elec- 
tricity and  explosives.  He  is  trying  to  make  sure  of 
hiding  something  from  exposure.  We  must  find 
him." 

"And  especially  Haddon,"  Carton  added  quickly. 
"He  is  the  missing  link.  His  testimony  is  absolutely 
essential  to  the  case  I  am  building  up." 

"I  think  I  shall  want  to  observe  Loraine  Keith 
without  being  observed,'7  planned  Kennedy,  with  a 
hasty  glance  at  his  watch.  "I  think  I'll  drop  around 
at  this  Mayfair  I  have  heard  so  much  about.  Will 
you  come?" 

"I'd  better  not,"  refused  Carton.  "You  know  they 
all  know  me,  and  everything  quits  wherever  I  go. 
Til  see  you  soon." 

As  we  drove  in  a  cab  over  to  the  Mayfair,  Kennedy 
said  nothing.  I  wondered  how  and  where  Haddon 
had  disappeared.  Had  the  powers  of  evil  in  the  city 
learned  that  he  was  weakening  and  hurried  him  out 
of  the  way  at  the  last  moment?  Just  what  had  Lo- 
raine Keith  to  do  with  it?  Was  she  in  any  way  re- 
sponsible? I  felt  that  there  were,  indeed,  no  bounds 
to  what  a  jealous  woman  might  dare. 

Beside  the  ornate  grilled  doorway  of  the  carriage 
entrance  of  the  Mayfair  stood  a  gilt-and-black  easel 
with  the  words,  "Tango  Tea  at  Four."  Although  it 
was  considerably  after  that  time,  there  was  a  line  of 
taxi-cabs  before  the  place  and,  inside,  a  brave  array 
of  late-afternoon  and  early-evening  revellers.  The 
public  dancing  had  ceased,  and  a  cabaret  had  taken 
its  place. 


The  Bomb  Maker  259 

We  entered  and  sat  down  at  one  of  the  more  in- 
conspicuous of  the  little  round  tables.  On  a  stage, 
at  one  side,  a  girl  was  singing  one  of  the  latest  synco- 
pated airs. 

"We'll  just  stick  around  a  while,  Walter,"  whis- 
pered Craig.  "Perhaps  this  Loraine  Keith  will  come 
in." 

Behind  us,  protected  both  by  the  music  and  the 
rustle  of  people  coming  and  going,  a  couple  talked 
in  low  tones.  Now  and  then  a  word  floated  over  to 
me  in  a  language  which  was  English,  sure  enough, 
but  not  of  a  kind  that  I  could  understand. 

"Dropped  by  a  flatty,"  I  caught  once,  then  some- 
thing about  a  "mouthpiece,"  and  the  "bulls,"  and 
"making  a  plant." 

"A  dip — pickpocket — and  his  girl,  or  gun-moll,,  as 
they  call  them,"  translated  Kennedy.  "One  of  their 
number  has  evidently  been  picked  up  by  a  detective 
and  he  looks  to  them  for  a  good  lawyer,  or  mouth- 
piece." 

Besides  these  two  there  were  innumerable  other  in- 
teresting glimpses  into  the  life  of  this  meeting-place 
for  the  half -and  underworlds.  A  motion  in  the  audi- 
ence attracted  me,  as  if  some  favourite  performer  were 
about  to  appear,  and  I  heard  the  "gun-moll"  whisper, 
"Loraine  Keith." 

There  she  was,  a  petite,  dark-haired,  snappy-eyed 
girl,  chic,  well  groomed,  and  gowned  so  daringly  that 
every  woman  in  the  audience  envied  and  every  man 
craned  his  neck  to  see  her  better.  Loraine  wore  a 
tight-fitting  black  dress,  slashed  to  the  knee.  In  fact, 
everything  was  calculated  to  set  her  off  at  best  ad- 


260  The  Dream  Doctor 

vantage,  and  on  the  stage,  at  least,  there  was  some- 
thing recherche  about  her.  Yet,  there  was  also 
something  gross  about  her,  too. 

Accompanying  her  was  a  nervous-looking  fellow 
whose  washed-out  face  was  particularly  unattractive. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  bone  in  his  nose  was  going,  clue 
to  the  shrinkage  of  the  blood-vessels.  Once,  just  be- 
fore the  dance  began,  I  saw  him  rub  something  on 
the  back  of  his  hand,  raise  it  to  his  nose,  and  sniff. 
Then  he  took  a  sip  of  a  liqueur. 

The  dance  began,  wild  from  the  first  step,  and  as 
it  developed,  Kennedy  leaned  over  and  whispered, 
"The  danse  des  Apaches." 

It  was  acrobatic.  The  man  expressed  brutish  pas- 
sion and  jealousy ;  the  woman,  affection  and  fear.  It 
seemed  to  tell  a  story — the  struggle  of  love,  the  love 
of  the  woman  against  the  brutal  instincts  of  the  thug, 
her  lover.  She  was  terrified  as  well  as  fascinated  by 
him  in  his  mad  temper  and  tremendous  superhuman 
strength.  I  wondered  if  the  dance  portrayed  the  fact. 

The  music  was  a  popular  air  with  many  rapid 
changes,  but  through  all  there  was  a  constant  rhythm 
which  accorded  well  with  the  abandon  of  the  swaying 
dance.  Indeed,  I  could  think  of  nothing  so  much  as 
of  Bill  Sykes  and  Nancy  as  I  watched  these  two. 

It  was  the  fight  of  two  frenzied  young  animals.  He 
would  approach  stealthily,  seize  her,  and  whirl  her 
about,  lifting  her  to  his  shoulder.  She  was  agile,  do- 
cile, and  fearful.  He  untied  a  scarf  and  passed  it 
about  her ;  she  leaned  against  it,  and  they  whirled  gid- 
dily about.  Suddenly,  it  seemed  that  he  became  jeal- 
ous. She  would  run;  he  follow  and  catch  her.  She 


The  Bomb  Maker  261 

would  try  to  pacify  him;  he  would  become  more  en- 
raged. The  dance  became  faster  and  more  furious. 
His  violent  efforts  seemed  to  be  to  throw  her  to  the 
floor,  and  her  streaming  hair  now  made  it  seem  more 
like  a  fight  than  a  dance.  The  audience  hung  breath- 
less. It  ended  with  her  dropping  exhausted,  a  proper 
finale  to  this  lowest  and  most  brutal  dance. 

Panting,  flushed,  with  an  unnatural  light  in  their 
eyes,  they  descended  to  the  audience  and,  scorning 
the  roar  of  applause  to  repeat  the  performance,  sat 
at  a  little  table. 

I  saw  a  couple  of  girls  come  over  toward  the  man. 

"Give  us  a  deck,  Coke,"  said  one,  in  a  harsh  voice. 

He  nodded.  A  silver  quarter  gleamed  momentarily 
from  hand  to  hand,  and  he  passed  to  one  girl  stealth- 
ily a  small  white-paper  packet.  Others  came  to  him, 
both  men  and  women.  It  seemed  to  be  an  established 
thing. 

"Who  is  that?"  asked  Kennedy,  in  a  low  tone,  of 
the  pickpocket  back  of  us. 

"Coke  Brodie,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"A  cocaine  fiend?" 

"Yes,  and  a  lobbygow  for  the  grapevine  system  of 
selling  the  dope  under  this  new  law." 

"Where  does  he  get  the  supply  to  sell  ?"  asked  Ken- 
nedy, casually. 

The  pickpocket  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"No  one  knows,  I  suppose,"  Kennedy  commented 
to  me.  "But  he  gets  it  in  spite  of  the  added  restric- 
tions and  peddles  it  in  little  packets,  adulterated, 
and  at  a  fabulous  price  for  such  cheap  stuff.  The 
habit  is  spreading  like  wildfire.  It  is  a  fertile  means 


262  The  Dream  Doctor 

of  recruiting  the  inmates  in  the  vice-trust  hotels.  A 
veritable  epidemic  it  is,  too.  Cocaine  is  one  of  the 
most  harmful  of  all  habit-forming  drugs.  It  used  to 
be  a  habit  of  the  underworld,  but  now  it  is  creeping 
up,  and  gradually  and  surely  reaching  the  higher 
strata  of  society.  One  thing  that  causes  its  spread 
is  the  ease  with  which  it  can  be  taken.  It  requires 
no  smoking-dens,  no  syringe,  no  paraphernalia — only 
the  drug  itself." 

Another  singer  had  taken  the  place  of  the  dancers. 
Kennedy  leaned  over  and  whispered  to  the  dip. 

"Say,  do  you  and  your  gun-moll  want  to  pick  up  a 
piece  of  change  to  get  that  mouthpiece  I  heard  you 
talking  about?" 

The  pickpocket  looked  at  Craig  suspiciously. 

"Oh,  don't  worry;  I'm  all  right,"  laughed  Craig. 
"You  see  that  fellow,  Coke  Brodie?  I  want  to  get 
something  on  him.  If  you  will  frame  that  sucker  to 
get  away  with  a  whole  front,  there's  a  fifty  in  it." 

The  dip  looked,  rather  than  spoke,  his  amazement. 
Apparently  Kennedy  satisfied  his  suspicions. 

"I'm  on,"  he  said  quickly.  "When  he  goes,  I'll  fol- 
low him.  You  keep  behind  us,  and  we'll  deliver  the 
goods." 

"What's  it  all  about?"  I  whispered. 

"Why,"  he  answered,  "I  want  to  get  Brodie,  only 
I  don't  want  to  figure  in  the  thing  so  that  he  will 
know  me  or  suspect  anything  but  a  plain  hold-up. 
They  will  get  him;  take  everything  he  has.  There 
must  be  something  on  that  man  that  will  help  us." 

Several  performers  had  done  their  turns,  and  the 
supply  of  the  drug  seemed  to  have  been  exhausted. 


The  Bomb  Maker  263 

Brodie  rose  and,  with  a  nod  to  Loraine,  went  out,  un- 
steadily, now  that  the  effect  of  the  cocaine  had  worn 
off.  One  wondered  how  this  shuffling  person  could 
ever  have  carried  through  the  wild  dance.  It  was 
not  Brodie  who  danced.  It  was  the  drug. 

The  dip  slipped  out  after  him,  followed  by  the 
woman.  We  rose  and  followed  also.  Across  the  city 
Brodie  slouched  his  way,  with  an  evident  purpose,  it 
seeme/I,  of  replenishing  his  supply  and  continuing  his 
round  of  peddling  the  stuff. 

He  stopped  under  the  brow  of  a  thickly  populated 
tenement  row  on  the  upper  East  Side,  as  though  this 
was  his  destination.  There  he  stood  at  the  gate  that 
led  down  to  a  cellar,  looking  up  and  down  as  if  won- 
dering whether  he  was  observed.  We  had  slunk  into 
a  doorway. 

A  woman  coming  down  the  street,  swinging  a 
chatelaine,  walked  close  to  him,  spoke,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment they  talked. 

"It's  the  gun-moll,"  remarked  Kennedy.  "She's 
getting  Brodie  off  his  guard.  This  must  be  the  root 
of  that  grapevine  system,  as  they  call  it." 

Suddenly  from  the  shadow  of  the  next  house  a 
stealthy  figure  sprang  out  on  Brodie.  It  was  our  dip, 
a  dip  no  longer  but  a  regular  stick-up  man,  with  a 
gun  jammed  into  the  face  of  his  victim  and  a  broad 
hand  over  his  mouth.  Skilfully  the  woman  went 
through  Brodie's  pockets,  her  nimble  fingers  missing 
not  a  thing. 

"Now — beat  it,"  we  heard  the  dip  whisper  hoarsely, 
"and  if  you  raise  a  holler,  we'll  get  you  right,  next 
time." 


264  The  Dream  Doctor 

Brodie  fled  as  fast  as  his  weakened  nerves  would 
permit  his  shaky  limbs  to  move.  As  he  disappeared, 
the  dip  sent  something  dark  hurtling  over  the  roof 
of  the  house  across  the  street  and  hurried  toward  us. 

"What  was  that?"  I  asked. 

"I  think  it  was  the  pistol  on  the  end  of  a  stout  cord. 
That  is  a  favourite  trick  of  the  gunmen  after  a  job. 
It  destroys  at  least  a  part  of  'the  evidence.  You  can't 
throw  a  gun  very  far  alone,  you  know.  But  with  it 
at  the  end  of  a  string  you  can  lift  it  up  over  the  roof 
of  a  tenement.  If  Brodie  squeals  to  a  copper  and 
these  people  are  caught,  they  can't  hold  them  under 
the  pistol  law,  anyhow." 

The  dip  had  caught  sight  of  us,  with  his  ferret  eyes., 
in  the  doorway.  Quickly  Kennedy  passed  over  the 
money  in  return  for  the  motley  array  of  objects  taken 
from  Brodie.  The  dip  and  his  gun-moll  disappeared 
into  the  darkness  as  quickly  as  they  had  emerged. 

There  was  a  curious  assortment — the  paraphernalia 
of  a  drug  fiend,  old  letters,  a  key,  and  several  other 
useless  articles.  The  pickpocket  had  retained  the 
money  from  the  sale  of  the  dope  as  his  own  particular 
honorarium. 

"Brodie  has  led  us  up  to  the  source  of  his  supply," 
remarked  Kennedy,  thoughtfully  regarding  the  stuff. 
"And  the  dip  has  given  us  the  key  to  it.  Are  you 
game  to  go  in?" 

A  glance  up  and  down  the  street  showed  it  still 
deserted.  We  wormed  our  way  in  the  shadow  to  the 
cellar  before  which  Brodie  had  stood.  The  outside 
door  was  open.  We  entered,  and  Craig  stealthily 
struck  a  match,  shading  it  in  his  hands. 


The  Bomb  Maker  265 

At  one  end  we  were  confronted  by  a  little  door  of 
mystery,  barred  with  iron  and  held  by  an  innocent 
enough  looking  padlock.  It  was  this  lock,  evidently, 
to  which  the  key  fitted,  opening  the  way  into  the  sub- 
terranean vault  of  brick  and  stone. 

Kennedy  opened  it  and  pushed  back  the  door. 
There  was  a  little  square  compartment,  dark  as  pitch 
and  delightfully  cool  and  damp.  He  lighted  a  match, 
then  hastily  blew  it  out  and  switched  on  an  electric 
bulb  which  it  disclosed. 

"Can't  afford  risks  like  that  here,"  he  exclaimed, 
carefully  disposing  of  the  match,  as  our  eyes  became 
accustomed  to  the  light. 

On  every  side  were  pieces  of  gas-pipe,  boxes,  and 
paper,  and  on  shelves  were  jars  of  various  materials. 
There  was  a  work-table  littered  with  tools,  pieces  of 
wire,  boxes,  and  scraps  of  metal. 

"My  word !"  exclaimed  Kennedy,  as  he  surveyed  the 
curious  scene  before  us,  "this  is  a  regular  bomb  fac- 
tory— one  of  the  most  amazing  exhibits  that  the  his- 
tory of  crime  has  ever  produced." 


XVIII 

The  "Coke"  Fiend 

I  FOLLOWED  him  in  awe  as  he  made  a  hasty  in- 
ventory of  what  we  had  discovered.  There 
were  as  many  as  a  dozen  finished  and  partly  finished 
infernal  machines  of  various  sizes  and  kinds,  some 
of  tremendous  destructive  capacity.  Kennedy  did 
not  even  attempt  to  study  them.  All  about  were  high 
explosives,  chemicals,  dynamite.  There  was  gun- 
powder of  all  varieties,  antimony,  blasting-powder, 
mercury  cyanide,  chloral  hydrate,  chlorate  of  potash, 
samples  of  various  kinds  of  shot,  some  of  the  out- 
lawed soft-nosed  dumdum  bullets,  cartridges,  shells, 
pieces  of  metal  purposely  left  with  jagged  edges, 
platinum,  aluminum,  iron,  steel — a  conglomerate 
mass  of  stuff  that  would  have  gladdened  an  anar- 
chist. 

Kennedy  was  examining  a  little  quartz-lined  elec- 
tric furnace,  which  was  evidently  used  for  heating 
soldering-irons  and  other  tools.  Everything  had  been 
done,  it  seemed,  to  prevent  explosions.  There  were 
no  open  lights  and  practically  no  chance  for  heat  to 
be  communicated  far  among  the  explosives.  Indeed, 
everything  had  been  arranged  to  protect  the  operator 
himself  in  his  diabolical  work. 

Kennedy  had  switched  on  the  electric  furnace,  and 
from  the  various  pieces  of  metal  on  the  table  selected 


The  "Coke"  Fiend  267 

several.  These  he  was  placing  together  in  a  peculiar 
manner,  and  to  them  he  attached  some  copper  wire 
which  lay  in  a  corner  in  a  roll. 

Under  the  work-table,  beneath  the  furnace,  one 
could  feel  the  warmth  of  the  thing  slightly.  Quickly 
he  took  the  curious  affair,  which  he  had  hastily 
shaped,  and  fastened  it  under  the  table  at  that  point, 
then  led  the  wires  out  through  a  little  barred  win- 
dow to  an  air-shaft,  the  only  means  of  ventilation 
of  the  place  except  the  door. 

While  he  was  working  I  had  been  gingerly  inspect- 
ing the  rest  of  the  den.  In  a  corner,  just  beside  the 
door,  I  had  found  a  set  of  shelves  and  a  cabinet.  On 
both  were  innumerable  packets  done  up  in  white 
paper.  I  opened  one  and  found  it  contained  sev- 
eral pinches  of  a  white,  crystalline  substance. 

"Little  portions  of  cocaine,"  commented  Kennedy, 
when  I  showed  him  what  I  had  found.  "In  the  slang 
of  the  fiends,  'decks/  " 

On  the  top  of  the  cabinet  he  discovered  a  little 
enamelled  box,  much  like  a  snuff-box,  in  which  were 
also  some  of  the  white  flakes.  Quickly  he  emptied 
them  out  and  replaced  them  with  others  from  jars 
which  had  not  been  made  up  into  packets. 

"Why,  there  must  be  hundreds  of  ounces  of  the 
stuff  here,  to  say  nothing  of  the  various  things  they 
adulterate  it  with,"  remarked  Kennedy.  "No  won- 
der they  are  so  careful  when  it  is  a  felony  even  to 
have  it  in  your  possession  in  such  quantities.  See 
how  careful  they  are  about  the  adulteration,  too. 
You  could  never  tell  except  from  the  effect  whether 
it  was  the  pure  or  only  a  few-per-cent.-pure  article." 


268  The  Dream  Doctor 

Kennedy  took  a  last  look  at  the  den,  to  make  sure 
that  nothing  had  been  disturbed  that  would  arouse 
suspicion. 

"We  may  as  well  go,"  he  remarked.  "To-morrow, 
I  want  to  be  free  to  make  the  connection  outside  with 
that  wire  in  the  shaft." 

Imagine  our  surprise,  the  next  morning,  when  a 
tap  at  our  door  revealed  Loraine  Keith  herself. 

"Is  this  Professor  Kennedy?"  she  asked,  gazing  at 
us  with  a  half-wild  expression  which  she  was  making 
a  tremendous  effort  to  control.  "Because  if  it  is,  I 
have  something  to  tell  him  that  may  interest  Mr. 
Carton." 

We  looked  at  her  curiously.  Without  her  make-up 
she  was  pallid  and  yellow  in  spots,  her  hands  trem- 
bling, cold,  and  sweaty,  her  eyes  sunken  and  glis- 
tening, with  pupils  dilated,  her  breathing  short  and 
hurried,  restless,  irresolute,  and  careless  of  her  per- 
sonal appearance. 

"Perhaps  you  wonder  how  I  heard  of  you  and  why 
I  have  come  to  you,"  she  went  on.  "It  is  because  I 
have  a  confession  to  make.  I  saw  Mr.  Haddon  just 
before  he  was — kidnapped." 

She  seemed  to  hesitate  over  the  word. 

"How  did  you  know  I  was  interested?"  asked  Ken- 
nedy keenly. 

"I  heard  him  mention  your  name  with  Mr.  Car- 
ton's." 

"Then  he  knew  that  I  was  more  than  a  reporter 
for  the  Star,"  remarked  Kennedy.  "Kidnapped,  you 
say?  How?" 


The  "Coke"  Fiend  269 

She  shot  a  glance  half  of  suspicion,  half  of  frank- 
ness, at  us. 

"That's  what  I  must  confess.  Whoever  did  it  must 
have  used  me  as  a  tool.  Mr.  Haddon  and  I  used  to 
be  good  friends — I  would  be  yet." 

There  was  evident  feeling  in  her  tone  which  she 
did  not  have  to  assume.  "All  I  remember  yesterday 
was  that,  after  lunch,  I  was  in  the  office  of  the  May- 
fair  when  he  came  in.  On  his  desk  was  a  package. 
I  don't  know  what  has  become  of  it.  But  he  gave 
one  look  at  it,  seemed  to  turn  pale,  then  caught  sight 
of  me.  'Loraine,'  he  whispered,  'we  used  to  be  good 
friends.  Forgive  me  for  turning  you  down.  But 
you  don't  understand.  Get  me  away  from  here — 
come  with  me — call  a  cab.' 

"Well,  I  got  into  the  cab  with  him.  We  had  a 
chauffeur  whom  we  used  to  have  in  the  old  days.  We 
drove  furiously,  avoiding  the  traffic  men.  He  told 
the  driver  to  take  us  to  my  apartment — and — and 
that  is  the  last  I  remember,  except  a  scuffle  in  which 
I  was  dragged  from  the  cab  on  one  side  and  he  on 
the  other." 

She  had  opened  her  handbag  and  taken  from  it  a 
little  snuff-box,  like  that  which  we  had  seen  in  the 
den. 

"I — I  can't  go  on,"  she  apologised,  "without  this 
stuff." 

"So  you  are  a  cocaine  fiend,  also?"  remarked  Ken- 
nedy. 

"Yes,  I  can't  help  it.  There  is  an  indescribable 
excitement  to  do  something  great,  to  make  a  mark, 


270  The  Dream  Doctor 

that  goes  with  it.  It's  soon  gone,  but  while  it  lasts 
I  can  sing  and  dance,  do  anything  until  every  part 
of  my  body  begins  crying  for  it  again.  I  was  full  of 
the  stuff  when  this  happened  yesterday;  had  taken 
too  much,  I  guess." 

The  change  in  her  after  she  had  snuffed  some  of 
the  crystals  was  magical.  From  a  quivering  wretch 
she  had  become  now  a  self-confident  neurasthenic. 

"You  know  where  that  stuff  will  land  you,  I  pre- 
sume?" questioned  Kennedy. 

"I  don't  care,"  she  laughed  hollowly.  "Yes,  I 
know  what  you  are  going  to  tell  me.  Soon  I'll  be 
hunting  for  the  cocaine  bug,  as  they  call  it,  imagin- 
ing that  in  my  skin,  under  the  flesh,  are  worms  crawl- 
ing, perhaps  see  them,  see  the  little  animals  running 
around  and  biting  me.  Oh,  you  don't  know.  There 
are  two  souls  to  the  cocainist.  One  is  tortured  by 
the  suffering  which  the  stuff  brings ;  the  other  laughs 
at  the  fears  and  pains.  But  it  brings  such  thoughts ! 
It  stimulates  my  mind,  makes  it  work  without, 
against  my  will,  gives  me  such  visions — oh,  I  can  not 
go  on.  They  would  kill  me  if  they  knew  I  had  come 
to  you.  Why  have  I?  Has  not  Haddon  cast  me  off? 
What  is  he  to  me,  now?" 

It  was  evident  that  she  was  growing  hysterical.  I 
wondered  whether,  after  all,  the  story  of  the  kid- 
napping of  Haddon  might  not  be  a  figment  of  her 
brain,  simply  an  hallucination  due  to  the  drug. 

"They?"  inquired  Kennedy,  observing  her  nar- 
rowly. "Who?" 

"I  can't  tell.  I  don't  know.  Why  did  I  come? 
Why  did  I  come?" 


The  "Coke"  Fiend  271 

She  was  reaching  again  for  the  snuff-box,  but  Ken- 
nedy restrained  her. 

"Miss  Keith,"  he  remarked,  "you  are  concealing 
something  from  me.  There  is  some  one,"  he  paused 
a  moment,  "whom  you  are  shielding." 

"No,  no,"  she  cried.  "He  was  taken.  Brodie  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  nothing.  That  is  what  you 
mean.  I  know.  This  stuff  increases  my  sensitive- 
ness. Yet  I  hate  Coke  Brodie — oh — let  me  go.  I 
am  all  unstrung.  Let  me  see  a  doctor.  To-night, 
when  I  am  better,  I  will  tell  all." 

Loraine  Keith  had  torn  herself  from  him,  had  in- 
stantly taken  a  pinch  of  the  fatal  crystals,  with  that 
same  ominous  change  from  fear  to  self-confidence. 
What  had  been  her  purpose  in  coming  at  all?  It 
had  seemed  at  first  to  implicate  Brodie,  but  she  had 
been  quick  to  shield  him  when  she  saw  that  danger. 
I  wondered  what  the  fascination  might  be  which  the 
wretch  exercised  over  her. 

"To-night — I  will  see  you  to-night,"  she  cried,  and 
a  moment  later  she  was  gone,  as  unexpectedly  as  she 
had  come. 

I  looked  at  Kennedy  blankly. 

"What  was  the  purpose  of  that  outburst?"  I 
asked. 

"I  can't  say,"  he  replied.  "It  was  all  so  incoherent 
that,  from  what  I  know  of  drug  fiends,  I  am  sure  she 
had  a  deep-laid  purpose  in  it  all.  It  does  not  change 
my  plans." 

Two  hours  later  we  had  paid  a  deposit  on  an  empty 
flat  in  the  tenement-house  in  which  the  bomb-maker 
had  his  headquarters,  and  had  received  a  key  to  the 

18 


272  The  Dream  Doctor 

apartment  from  the  janitor.  After  considerable 
difficulty,  owing  to  the  narrowness  of  the  air-shaft, 
Kennedy  managed  to  pick  up  the  loose  ends  of  the 
wire  which  had  been  led  out  of  the  little  window 
at  the  base  of  the  shaft,  and  had  attached  it  to  a 
couple  of  curious  arrangements  which  he  had  brought 
with  him.  One  looked  like  a  large  taximeter  from 
a  motor  cab;  the  other  was  a  diminutive  gas-metre, 
in  looks  at  least.  Attached  to  them  were  several 
bells  and  lights. 

He  had  scarcely  completed  installing  the  thing, 
whatever  it  was,  when  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door  star- 
tled me.  Kennedy  nodded,  and  I  opened  it.  It  was 
Carton. 

"I  have  had  my  men  watching  the  Mayfair/'  he 
announced.  "There  seems  to  be  a  general  feeling 
of  alarm  there,  now.  They  can't  even  find  Loraine 
Keith.  Brodie,  apparently,  has  not  shown  up  in  his 
usual  haunts  since  the  episode  of  last  night." 

"I  wonder  if  the  long  arm  of  this  vice  trust  could 
have  reached  out  and  gathered  them  in,  too?"  I 
asked. 

"Quite  likely,"  replied  Carton,  absorbed  in  watch- 
ing Kennedy.  "What's  this?" 

A  little  bell  had  tinkled  sharply,  and  a  light  had 
flashed  up  on  the  attachments  to  the  apparatus. 

"Nothing.  I  was  just  testing  it  to  see  if  it  works. 
It  does,  although  the  end  which  I  installed  down 
below  was  necessarily  only  a  makeshift.  It  is  not 
this  red  light  with  the  shrill  bell  that  we  are  inter- 
ested in.  It  is  the  green  light  and  the  low-toned  bell. 
This  is  a  thermopile." 


The  "Coke"  Fiend  273 

"And  what  is  a  thermopile?"  queried  Carton. 

"For  the  sake  of  one  who  has  forgotten  his 
physics,"  smiled  Kennedy,  "I  may  say  this  is  only 
another  illustration  of  how  all  science  ultimately 
finds  practical  application.  You  probably  have  for- 
gotten that  when  two  half-rings  of  dissimilar  metals 
are  joined  together  and  one  is  suddenly  heated  or 
chilled,  there  is  produced  at  the  opposite  connecting 
point  a  feeble  current  which  will  flow  until  the  junc- 
tures are  both  at  the  same  temperature.  You  might 
call  this  a  thermo-electric  thermometer,  or  a  telether- 
mometer,  or  a  microthermometer,  or  any  of  a  dozen 
names." 

"Yes,"  I  agreed  mechanically,  only  vaguely  guess- 
ing at  what  he  had  in  mind. 

"The  accurate  measurement  of  temperature  is 
still  a  problem  of  considerable  difficulty,"  he  resumed, 
adjusting  the  thermometer.  "A  heated  mass  can  im- 
part vibratory  motion  to  the  ether  which  fills  space, 
and  the  wave-motions  of  ether  are  able  to  reproduce 
in  other  bodies  motions  similar  to  those  by  which 
they  are  caused.  At  this  end  of  the  line  I  merely 
measure  the  electromotive  force  developed  by  the  dif- 
ference in  temperature  of  two  similar  thermo-electric 
junctions,  opposed.  We  call  those  junctions  in  a 
thermopile  'couples,'  and  by  getting  the  recording  in- 
struments sensitive  enough,  we  can  measure  one  one- 
thousandth  of  a  degree. 

"Becquerel  was  the  first,  I  believe,  to  use  this  prop- 
erty. But  the  machine  which  you  see  here  was  one 
recently  invented  for  registering  the  temperature  of 
sea  water  so  as  to  detect  the  approach  of  an  iceberg- 


274  The  Dream  Doctor 

• 

I  saw  no  reason  why  it  should  not  be  used  to  measure 
heat  as  well  as  cold. 

"You  see,  down  there  I  placed  the  couples  of  the 
thermopile  beneath  the  electric  furnace  on  the  table. 
Here  I  have  the  mechanism  operated  by  the  feeble 
current  from  the  thermopile,  opening  and  closing 
switches,  and  actuating  bells  and  lights.  Then,  too, 
I  have  the  recording  instrument.  The  thing  is  funda- 
mentally very  simple  and  is  based  on  well-known  phe- 
nomena. It  is  not  uncertain  and  can  be  tested  at 
any  time,  just  as  I  did  then,  when  I  showed  a  slight 
fall  in  temperature.  Of  course  it  is  not  the  slight 
changes  I  am  after,  not  the  gradual  but  the  sudden 
changes  in  temperature." 

"I  see,"  said  Carton.  "If  there  is  a  drop,  the  cur- 
rent goes  one  way  and  we  see  the  red  light;  a  rise 
and  it  goes  the  other,  and  we  see  a  green  light." 

"Exactly,"  agreed  Kennedy.  "No  one  is  going  to 
approach  that  chamber  down-stairs  as  long  as  he 
thinks  any  one  is  watching,  and  we  do  not  know 
where  they  are  watching.  But  the  moment  any  sud- 
den great  change  is  registered,  such  as  turning  on 
that  electric  furnace,  we  shall  know  it  here." 

It  must  have  been  an  hour  that  we  sat  there  dis- 
cussing the  merits  of  the  case  and  speculating  on  the 
strange  actions  of  Loraine  Keith. 

Suddenly  the  red  light  flashed  out  brilliantly. 

"AVhat's  that?"  asked  Carton  quickly. 

"I  can't  tell,  yet,"  remarked  Kennedy.  "Perhaps 
it  is  nothing  at  all.  Perhaps  it  is  a  draught  of  cold 
air  from  opening  the  door.  We  shall  have  to  wait 
see." 


The  "Coke"  Fiend  275 

We  bent  over  the  little  machine,  straining  our  eyes 
and  ears  to  catch  the  visual  and  audible  signals 
which  it  gave. 

Gradually  the  light  faded,  as  the  thermopile  ad- 
justed itself  to  the  change  in  temperature. 

Suddenly,  without  warning,  a  low-toned  bell  rang 
before  us  and  a  bright-green  light  flashed  up. 

"That  can  have  only  one  meaning,"  cried  Craig  ex- 
citedly. "Some  one  is  down  there  in  that  inferno — 
perhaps  the  bomb-maker  himself." 

The  bell  continued  to  ring  and  the  light  to  glow, 
showing  that  whoever  was  there  had  actually  started 
the  electric  furnace.  What  was  he  preparing  to  do? 
I  felt  that,  even  though  we  knew  there  was  some  one 
there,  it  did  us  little  good.  I,  for  one,  had  no  relish 
for  the  job  of  bearding  such  a  lion  in  his  den. 

We  looked  at  Kennedy,  wondering  what  he  would 
do  next.  From  the  package  in  which  he  had  brought 
the  two  registering  machines  he  quietly  took  another 
package,  wrapped  up,  about  eighteen  inches  long  and 
apparently  very  heavy.  As  he  did  so  he  kept  his  at- 
tention fixed  on  the  telethermometer.  Was  he  going 
to  wait  until  the  bomb-maker  had  finished  what  he 
had  come  to  accomplish? 

It  was  perhaps  fifteen  minutes  after  our  first 
alarm  that  the  signals  began  to  weaken. 

"Does  that  mean  that  he  has  gone — escaped?"  in- 
quired Carton  anxiously. 

"No.  It  means  that  his  furnace  is  going  at  full 
power  and  that  he  has  forgotten  it.  It  is  what  I 
am  waiting  for.  Come  on." 

Seizing  the  package  as  he  hurried  from  the  room, 


276  The  Dream  Doctor 

Kennedy  dashed  out  on  the  street  and  down  the  out- 
side cellar  stairs,  followed  by  us. 

He  paused  at  the  thick  door  and  listened.  Appar- 
ently there  was  not  a  sound  from  the  other  side,  ex- 
cept a  whir  of  a  motor  and  a  roar  which  might  have 
been  from  the  furnace.  Softly  he  tried  the  door.  It 
was  locked  on  the  inside. 

Was  the  bomb-maker  there  still?  He  must  be. 
Suppose  he  heard  us.  Would  he  hesitate  a  moment 
to  send  us  all  to  perdition  along  with  himself? 

How  were  we  to  get  past  that  door?  Keally,  the 
deathlike  stillness  on  the  other  side  was  more  mys- 
terious than  would  have  been  the  detonation  of  some 
of  the  criminal's  explosive. 

Kennedy  had  evidently  satisfied  himself  on  one 
point.  If  we  were  to  get  into  that  chamber  we  must 
do  it  ourselves,  and  we  must  do  it  quickly. 

From  the  package  which  he  carried  he  pulled  out 
a  stubby  little  cylinder,  perhaps  eighteen  inches  long, 
very  heavy,  with  a  short  stump  of  a  lever  projecting 
from  one  side.  Between  the  stonework,  of  a  chimney 
and  the  barred  door  he  laid  it  horizontally,  jamming 
in  some  pieces  of  wood  to  wedge  it  tighter. 

Then  he  began  to  pump  on  the  handle  vigorously. 
The  almost  impregnable  door  seemed  slowly  to  bulge. 
Still  there  was  no  sign  of  life  from  within.  Had  the 
bomb-maker  left  before  we  arrived? 

"This  is  my  scientific  sledge-hammer,"  panted 
Kennedy,  as  he  worked  the  little  lever  backward  and 
forward  more  quickly — "a  hydraulic  ram.  There  is 
no  swinging  of  axes  or  wielding  of  crowbars  neces- 
sary in  breaking  down  an  obstruction  like  this,  now- 


The  "Coke"  Fiend  277 

adays.  Such  things  are  obsolete.  This  little  jimmy, 
if  you  want  to  call  it  that,  has  a  power  of  ten  tons. 
That  ought  to  be  enough." 

It  seemed  as  if  the  door  were  slowly  being  crushed 
in  before  the  irresistible  ten-ton  punch  of  the  hy- 
draulic ram. 

Kennedy  stopped.  Evidently  he  did  not  dare  to 
crush  the  door  in  altogether.  Quickly  he  released 
the  ram  and  placed  it  vertically.  Under  the  now- 
yawning  doorjamb  he  inserted  a  powerful  claw  of  the 
ram  and  again  he  began  to  work  the  handle. 

A  moment  later  the  powerful  door  buckled,  and 
Kennedy  deftly  swung  it  outward  so  that  it  fell  with 
a  crash  on  the  cellar  floor. 

As  the  noise  reverberated,  there  came  a  sound  of 
a  muttered,  curse  from  the  cavern.  Some  one  was 
there. 

We  pressed  forward. 

On  the  floor,  in  the  weird  glare  of  the  little  fur- 
nace, lay  a  man  and  a  woman,  the  light  playing  over 
their  ghastly,  set  features. 

Kennedy  knelt  over  the  man,  who  was  nearest  the 
door. 

"Call  a  doctor,  quick,"  he  ordered,  reaching  over 
and  feeling  the  pulse  of  the  woman,  who  had  half 
fallen  out  of  her  chair.  "They  will  be  all  right  soon. 
They  took  what  they  thought  was  their  usual  adul- 
terated cocaine — see,  here  is  the  box  in  which  it  was. 
Instead,  I  filled  the  box  with  the  pure  drug.  They'll 
come  around.  Besides,  Carton  needs  both  of  them  in 
his  fight." 

"Don't  take  any  more,"  muttered  the  woman,  half 


278  The  Dream  Doctor 

conscious.     "There's  something  wrong  with  it,  Had- 
don." 

I  looked  more  closely  at  the  face  ID  the  half-dark- 
ness. 

It  was  Haddon  himself. 

"I  knew  he'd  come  back  when  the  craving  for  the 
drug  became  intense  enough,"  remarked  Kennedy. 

Carton  looked  at  Kennedy  in  amazement.  Had- 
don was  the  last  person  in  the  world  whom  he  had  evi- 
dently expected  to  discover  here. 

"How — what  do  you  mean?" 

"The  episode  of  the  telephone  booth  gave  me  the 
first  hint.  That  is  the  favourite  stunt  of  the  drug 
fiend— a  few  minutes  alone,  and  he  thinks  no  one 
is  the  wiser  about  his  habit.  Then,  too,  there  was 
the  story  about  his  speed  mania.  That  is  a  frequent 
failing  of  the  cocainist.  The  drug,  too,  was  killing 
his  interest  in  Loraine  Keith — that  is  the  last  stage. 

"Yet  under  its  influence,  just  as  with  his  lobbygow 
and  lieutenant,  Brodie,  he  found  power  and  inspira- 
tion. With  him  it  took  the  form  of  bombs  to  protect 
himself  in  his  graft." 

"He  can't — escape  this  time — Loraine.  We'll  leave 
it — at  his  house — you  know — Carton — " 

We  looked  quickly  at  the  wrork-table.  On  it  was 
a  gigantic  bomb  of  clockwork  over  which  Haddon 
had  been  working.  The  cocaine  which  was  to  have 
given  him  inspiration  had,  thanks  to  Kennedy,  over- 
come him. 

Beside  Loraine  Keith  were  a  suit-case  and  a  Glad- 
stone. She  had  evidently  been  stuffing  the  corners 
full  of  their  favourite  nepenthe,  for,  as  Kennedy 


The  "Coke"  Fiend  279 

reached  down  and  turned  over  the  closely  packed 
woman's  finery  and  the  few  articles  belonging  to  Had- 
don, innumerable  packets  from  the  cabinet  dropped 
out. 

"Hulloa — what's  this?"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  came 
to  a  huge  roll  of  bills  and  a  mass  of  silver  and  gold 
coin.  "Trying  to  double-cross  us  all  the  time.  That 
was  her  clever  game — to  give  him  the  hours  he  needed 
to  gather  what  money  he  could  save  and  make  a  clean 
getaway.  Even  cocaine  doesn't  destroy  the  interest 
of  men  and  women  in  that,"  he  concluded,  turning 
over  to  Carton  the  wealth  which  Haddon  had  amassed 
as  one  of  the  meanest  grafters  of  the  city  of  graft. 

Here  was  a  case  which  I  could  not  help  letting  the 
Star  have  immediately.  Notes  or  no  notes,  it  was 
local  news  of  the  first  order.  Besides,  anything  that 
concerned  Carton  was  of  the  highest  political  signifi- 
cance. 

It  kept  me  late  at  the  office  and  I  overslept.  Con- 
sequently I  did  not  see  much  of  Craig  the  next  morn- 
ing, especially  as  he  told  me  he  had  nothing  special, 
having  turned  down  a  case  of  a  robbery  of  a  safe,  on 
the  ground  that  the  police  were  much  better  fitted 
to  catch  ordinary  yeggmen  than  he  was.  During  the 
day,  therefore,  I  helped  in  directing  the  following 
up  of  the  Haddon  case  for  the  Star. 

Then,  suddenly,  a  new  front  page  story  crowded 
this  one  of  the  main  headlines.  With  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief, I  glanced  at  the  new  thriller,  found  it  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  Navy  Department,  and  that  it 
came  from  as  far  away  as  Washington.  There  was 
no  reason  now  why  others  could  not  carry  on  the 


280  The  Dream  Doctor 

graft  story,  and  I  left,  not  unwillingly.  My  special 
work  just  now  was  keeping  on  the  trail  of  Kennedy, 
and  I  was  glad  to  go  back  to  the  apartment  and  wait 
for  him. 

"I  suppose  you  saw  that  despatch  from  Washing- 
ton in  this  afternoon's  papers?"  he  queried,  as  he 
came  in,  tossing  a  late  edition  of  the  Record  down 
on  my  desk. 

Across  the  front  page  extended  a  huge  black 
scare-head:  "NAVY'S  MOST  .VITAL  SECKET 
STOLEN." 

"Yes,"  I  shrugged,  "but  you  can't  get  me  much  ex- 
cited by  what  the  rewrite  men  on  the  Record  say." 

"Why?"  he  asked,  going  directly  into  his  own  room. 

"Well,"  I  replied,  glancing  through  the  text  of  the 
story,  "the  actual  facts  are  practically  the  same  as  in 
the  other  papers.  Take  this,  for  instance,  'On  the 
night  of  the  celebration  of  the  anniversary  of  the 
battle  of  Manila  there  were  stolen  from  the  Navy 
Department  plans  wrhich  the  Record  learns  exclu- 
sively represent  the  greatest  naval  secret  in  the 
world.'  So  much  for  that  paragraph — written  in  the 
office.  Then  it  goes  on : 

"The  whole  secret-service  machinery  of  the  Government  has 
been  put  in  operation.  No  one  has  been  able  to  extract  from  the 
authorities  the  exact  secret  which  was  stolen,  but  it  is  believed 
to  be  an  invention  which  will  revolutionise  the  structure  and 
construction  of  the  most  modern  monster  battleships.  Such 
knowledge,  it  is  said,  in  the  hands  of  experts  might  prove  *atal 
in  almost  any  fight  in  which  our  newer  ships  met  others  of  about 
equal  fighting  power,  as  with  it  marksmen  might  direct  a  shot 
that  would  disable  our  ships. 

"It  is  the  opinion  of  the  experts  that  the  theft  was  executed 
by  a  skilled  draughtsman  or  other  civilian  employe.  At  any  rate, 


The  "Coke"  Fiend  281 

the  thief  knew  what  to  take  and  its  value.  There  is,  at  least, 
one  nation,  it  is  asserted,  which  faces  the  problem  of  bringing 
its  ships  up  to  the  standard  of  our  own  to  which  the  plans  would 
be  very  valuable. 

"The  building  had  been  thrown  open  to  the  public  for  the  dis- 
play of  fireworks  on  the  Monument  grounds  before  it.  The  plans 
are  said  to  have  been  on  one  of  the  draughting-tables,  drawn  upon 
linen  to  be  made  into  blue-prints.  They  are  known  to  have  been 
on  the  tables  when  the  draughting-room  was  locked  for  the  night. 

"The  room  is  on  the  third  floor  of  the  Department  and  has  a 
balcony  looking  out  on  the  Monument.  Many  officers  and  officials 
had  their  families  and  friends  on  the  balcony  to  witness  the  cele- 
bration, though  it  is  not  known  that  any  one  was  in  the  draaght- 
ing-room  itself.  All  were  admitted  to  the  building  on  passes. 
The  plans  were  tacked  to  a  draughting-board  in  the  room,  but 
when  it  was  opened  in  the  morning  the  linen  sheet  was  gone,  and 
so  were  the  thumb-tacks.  The  plans  could  readily  have  been 
rolled  into  a  small  bundle  and  carried  under  &  coat  or  wrap. 

"While  the  authorities  are  trying  to  minimise  the  actual  loss, 
it  is  believed  that  this  position  is  only  an  attempt  to  allay  the 
great  public  concern." 

I  paused.  "Now  then,"  I  added,  picking  up  one 
of  the  other  papers  I  had  brought  up-town  my- 
self, "take  the  Express.  It  says  that  the  plans  were 
important,  but  would  have  been  made  public  in  a  few 
months,  anyhow.  Here: 

"The  theft — or  mislaying,  as  the  Department  hopes  it  will  prove 
to  be — took  place  several  days  ago.  Official  confirmation  of  the 
report  is  lacking,  but  from  trustworthy  unofficial  sources  it  is 
learned  that  only  unimportant  parts  of  plans  are  missing,  pre- 
sumably minor  structural  details  of  battle-ship  construction,  and 
other  things  of  a  really  trivial  character,  such  as  copies  of  naval 
regulations,  etc. 

"The  attempt  to  make  a  sensational  connection  between  the 
loss  and  a  controversy  which  is  now  going  on  with  a  foreign 
government  is  greatly  to  be  deplored  and  is  emphatically  asserted 
to  be  utterly  baseless.  It  bears  traces  of  the  jingoism  of  those 
'interests'  which  are  urging  naval  increases. 


282  The  Dream  Doctor 

"There  is  usually  very  little  about  a  battle-ship  that  is  not 
known  before  her  keel  is  laid,  or  even  before  the  signing  of  the 
contracts.  At  any  rate,  when  it  is  asserted  that  the  plans  repre- 
sent the  dernier  cri  in  some  form  of  war  preparation,  it  is  well 
to  remember  that  a  'last  cry'  is  last  only  until  there  is  a 
later.  Naval  secrets  are  few,  anyway,  and  as  it  takes  some  years 
to  apply  them,  this  loss  cannot  be  of  superlative  value  to  any  one. 
Still,  there  is,  of  course,  a  market  for  such  information  in  spite 
of  the  progress  toward  disarmament,  but  the  rule  in  this  case 
will  be  the  rule  as  in  a  horse  trade,  'Caveat  emptor.' " 

"So  there  you  are,"  I  concluded.  "You  pay  your 
penny  for  a  paper,  and  you  take  your  choice." 

"And  the  Star"  inquired  Kennedy,  coming  to  the 
door  and  adding  with  an  aggravating  grin,  "the  in- 
fallible?" 

"The  Star"  I  replied,  unruffled,  "hits  the  point 
squarely  when  it  says  that  whether  the  plans  were 
of  immediate  importance  or  not,  the  real  point  is  that 
if  they  could  be  stolen,  really  important  things  could 
be  taken  also.  For  instance,  'The  thought  of  what 
the  thief  might  have  stolen  has  caused  much  more 
alarm  than  the  knowledge  of  what  he  has  succeeded 
in  taking.'  I  think  it  is  about  time  those  people  in 
Washington  stopped  the  leak  if — " 

The  telephone  rang  insistently. 

"I  think  that's  for  me,"  exclaimed  Craig,  bounding 
out  of  his  room  and  forgetting  his  quiz  of  me. 
"Hello — yes — is  that  you,  Burke?  At  the  Grand 
Central — half  an  hour — all  right.  I'm  bringing 
Jameson.  Good-bye." 

Kennedy  jammed  down  the  receiver  on  the  hook. 


XIX 

The  Submarine  Mystery 

*  TT1HE  Star  was  not  far  from  right,  Walter,"  he 
JL  added  seriously.  "If  the  battleship  plans 
could  be  stolen,  other  things  could  be — other  things 
were.  You  remember  Burke  of  the  secret  service? 
I'm  going  up  to  Lookout  Hill  on  the  Connecticut 
shore  of  the  Sound  with  him  to-night.  The  rewrite 
men  on  the  Record  didn't  have  the  facts,  but  they 
had  accurate  imaginations.  The  most  vital  secret 
that  any  navy  ever  had,  that  would  have  enabled  us 
in  a  couple  of  years  to  whip  the  navies  of  the  world 
combined  against  us,  has  been  stolen." 

"And  that  is?"  I  asked. 

"The  practical  working-out  of  the  newest  of  sci- 
ences, the  science  of  telautomatics." 

"Telautomatics?"  I  repeated. 

"Yes.  There  is  something  weird,  fascinating  about 
the  very  idea.  I  sit  up  here  safely  in  this  room,  turn- 
ing switches,  pressing  buttons,  depressing  levers. 
Ten  miles  away  a  vehicle,  a  ship,  an  aeroplane,  a 
submarine  obeys  me.  It  may  carry  enough  of  the 
latest  and  most  powerful  explosive  that  modern  sci- 
ence can  invent,  enough,  if  exploded,  to  rival  the 
worst  of  earthquakes.  Yet  it  obeys  my  will.  It 
goes  where  I  direct  it.  It  explodes  where  I  want  it. 

283 


284  The  Dream  Doctor 

And  it  wipes  off  the  face  of  the  earth  anything  whicK 
I  want  annihilated. 

"That's  telautomatics,  and  that  is  what  has  been 
stolen  from,  our  navy  and  dimly  sensed  by  you  clever 
newspaper  men,  from  whom  even  the  secret  service 
can't  quite  hide  everything.  The  publication  of  the 
rumour  alone  that  the  government  knows  it  has  lost 
something  has  put  the  secret  service  in  a  hole.  What 
might  have  been  done  quietly  and  in  a  few  days  has 
got  to  be  done  in  the  glare  of  the  limelight  and  with 
the  blare  of  a  brass  band — and  it  has  got  to  be  done 
right  away,  too.  Come  on,  Walter.  I've  thrown  to- 
gether all  we  shall  need  for  one  night — and  it  doesn't 
include  any  pajamas,  either." 

A  few  minutes  later  we  met  our  friend  Burke  of 
the  secret  service  at  the  new  terminal.  He  had 
wired  Kennedy  earlier  in  the  day  saying  that  he  would 
be  in  New  York  and  would  call  him  up. 

"The  plans,  as  I  told  you  in  my  message,"  began 
Burke,  when  we  had  seated  ourselves  in  a  compart- 
ment of  the  Pullman,  "were  those  of  Captain  Shir- 
ley, covering  the  wireless-controlled  submarine.  The 
old  captain  is  a  thoroughbred,  too.  I've  known  him 
in  Washington.  Comes  of  an  old  New  England  fam- 
ily with  plenty  of  money  but  more  brains.  For  years 
he  has  been  working  on  this  science  of  radio-telauto- 
matics,  has  all  kinds  of  patents,  which  he  has  dedi- 
cated to  the  United  States,  too.  Of  course  the  basic, 
pioneer  patents  are  not  his.  His  work  has  been  in 
the  practical  application  of  them.  And,  Kennedy, 
there  are  some  secrets  about  his  latest  work  that  he 
has  not  patented;  he  has  given  them  outright  to  the 


The  Submarine  Mystery  285 

Navy  Department,  because  they  are  too  valuable  even 
to  patent." 

Burke,  who  liked  a  good  detective  tale  himself, 
.seemed  pleased  at  holding  Kennedy  spellbound. 

"For  instance,"  he  went  on,  "he  has  on  the  bay  up 
here  a  submarine  which  can  be  made  into  a  crewless 
dirigible.  He  calls  it  the  Turtle,  I  believe,  because 
that  was  the  name  of  the  first  American  submarine 
built  by  Dr.  Bushnell  during  the  Revolution,  even 
before  Fulton." 

"You  have  theories  of  your  own  on  the  case?" 
asked  Craig. 

"Well,  there  are  several  possibilities.  You  know 
there  are  submarine  companies  in  this  country,  bitter 
rivals.  They  might  like  to  have  those  plans.  Then, 
too,  there  are  foreign  governments." 

He  paused.  Though  he  said  nothing,  I  felt  that 
there  was  no  doubt  what  he  hinted  at.  At  least  one 
government  occurred  to  me  which  would  like  the 
plans  above  all  others. 

"Once  some  plans  of  a  submarine  were  stolen,  I 
recall,"  ruminated  Kennedy.  "But  that  theft,  I  am 
satisfied,  was  committed  in  behalf  of  a  rival  com- 
pany." 

"But,  Kennedy,"  exclaimed  Burke,  "it  was  bad 
enough  when  the  plans  were  stolen.  Now  Captain 
Shirley  wires  me  that  some  one  must  have  tampered 
with  his  model.  It  doesn't  work  right.  He  even  be- 
lieves that  his  own  life  may  be  threatened.  And 
there  is  scarcely  a  real  clue,"  he  added  dejectedly. 
"Of  course  we  are  watching  all  the  employes  who  had, 
access  to  the  draughting-room  and  tracing  everybody 


286  The  Dream  Doctor 

who  was  in  the  building  that  night.  I  have  a  com- 
plete list  of  them.  There  are  three  or  four  who  will 
bear  watching.  For  instance,  there  is  a  young  at- 
tach6  of  one  of  the  embassies,  named  Nordheim.'* 

"Nordheim!"  I  echoed,  involuntarily.  I  had  ex- 
pected an  Oriental  name. 

"Yes,  a  German.  I  have  been  looking  up  his  rec- 
ord, and  I  find  that  once  he  was  connected  in  some 
way  with  the  famous  Titan  Iron  Works,  at  Kiel,  Ger- 
many. We  began  watching  him  day  before  yester- 
day, but  suddenly  he  disappeared.  Then,  there  is  a 
society  woman  in  Washington,  a  Mrs.  Bayard  Brain- 
ard,  who  was  at  the  Department  that  night.  We  have 
been  trying  to  find  her.  To-day  I  got  word  that  she 
was  summering  in  the  cottage  colony  across  the  bay 
from  Lookout  Hill.  At  any  rate,  I  had  to  go  up  there 
to  see  the  captain,  and  I  thought  I'd  kill  a  whole  flock 
of  birds  with  one  stone.  The  chief  thought,  too,  that 
if  you'd  take  the  case  with  us  you  had  best  start  on 
it  up  there.  Next,  you  will  no  doubt  want  to  go  back 
to  Washington  with  me." 

Lookout  Hill  was  the  name  of  the  famous  old  es- 
tate of  the  Shirleys,  on  a  point  of  land  jutting  out 
into  Long  Island  Sound  and  with  a  neighbouring 
point  enclosing  a  large,  deep,  safe  harbour.  On  the 
highest  ground  of  the  estate,  with  a  perfect  view  of 
both  harbour  and  sound,  stood  a  large  stone  house, 
the  home  of  Captain  Shirley,  of  the  United  States 
navy,  retired. 

Captain  Shirley,  a  man  of  sixty-two  or  three, 
bronzed  and  wiry,  met  us  eagerly. 

"So  this  is  Professor  Kennedy;  I'm  glad  to  meet 


The  Submarine  Mystery  287 

you,  sir,"  he  welcomed,  clasping  Craig's  hand  in  both 
of  his — a  fine  figure  as  he  stood  erect  in  the  light  of 
the  portecochdre.  "What's  the  news  from  Washing- 
ton, Burke?  Any  clues?" 

"I  can  hardly  tell,"  replied  the  secret  service  man, 
with  assumed  cheerfulness.  "By  the  way,  you'll  have 
to  excuse  me  for  a  few  minutes  while  I  run  back  into 
town  on  a  little  errand.  Meanwhile,  Captain,  will 
you  explain  to  Professor  Kennedy  just  how  things, 
are?  Perhaps  he'd  better  begin  by  seeing  the  Turtle 
herself." 

Burke  had  not  waited  longer  than  to  take  leave. 

"The  Turtle,"  repeated  the  captain,  leading  the 
way  into  the  house.  "Well,  I  did  call  it  that  at  first. 
But  I  prefer  to  call  it  the  Z99.  You  know  the  first 
submarines,  abroad  at  least,  were  sometimes  called 
Al,  A2,  A3,  and  so  on.  They  were  of  the  diving, 
plunging  type,  that  is,  they  submerged  on  an  inclined 
keel,  nose  down,  like  the  Hollands.  Then  came  the 
B  type,  in  which  the  hydroplane  appeared;  the  C 
type,  in  which  it  was  more  prominent,  and  a  D  type, 
where  submergence  is  on  a  perfectly  even  keel,  some- 
what like  our  Lakes.  Well,  this  boat  of  mine  is  a  last 
word— the  Z99.  Call  it  the  Turtle,  if  you  like." 

We  were  standing  for  a  moment  in  a  wide  Colonial 
hall  in  which  a  fire  was  crackling  in  a  huge  brick 
fireplace,  taking  the  chill  off  the  night  air. 

"Let  me  give  you  a  demonstration,  first,"  added  the 
captain.  "Perhaps  Z99  will  work — perhaps  not." 

There  was  an  air  of  disappointment  about  the  old 
veteran  as  he  spoke,  uncertainly  now,  of  what  a  short 
time  ago  he  had  known  to  be  a  certainty  and  one  of 

19 


288  The  Dream  Doctor 

the  greatest  it  had  ever  been  given  the  inventive  mind 
of  man  to  know. 

A  slip  of  a  girl  entered  from  the  library,  saw  us, 
paused,  and  was  about  to  turn  back.  Silhouetted 
against  the  curtained  door,  there  was  health,  anima- 
tion, gracefulness,  in  every  line  of  her  wavy  chestnut 
hair,  her  soft,  sparkling  brown  eyes,  her  white  dress 
and  hat  to  match,  which  contrasted  with  the  healthy 
glow  of  tan  e  n  her  full  neck  and  arms,  and  her  dainty 
little  white  shoes,  ready  for  anything  from  tennis  to 
tango. 

"My  daughter  Gladys,  Professor  Kennedy  and  Mr. 
Jameson,"  introduced  the  captain.  "We  are  going 
to  try  the  Z99  again,  Gladys." 

A  moment  later  we  four  were  walking  to  the  edge 
of  the  cliff  where  Captain  Shirley  had  a  sort  of  work- 
shop and  signal-station. 

He  lighted  the  gas,  for  Lookout  Hill  was  only  on* 
the  edge  of  the  town  and  boasted  gas,  electricity,  and 
all  modern  improvements,  as  well  as  the  atmosphere 
of  old  New  England. 

"The  Z99  is  moored  just  below  us  at  my  private 
dock,"  began  the  captain.  "I  have  a  shed  down  there 
where  we  usually  keep  her,  but  I  expected  you,  and 
she  is  waiting,  thoroughly  overhauled.  I  have  sig- 
nalled to  my  men — fellows  I  can  trust,  too,  who  used 
to  be  with  me  in  the  navy — to  cast  her  off.  There — 
now  we  are  ready." 

The  captain  turned  a  switch.  Instantly  a  couple 
of  hundred  feet  below  us,  on  the  dark  and  rippling 
water,  a  light  broke  forth.  Another  signal,  and  the 
light  changed. 


The  Submarine  Mystery  289 

It  was  moving. 

"The  principle  of  the  thing,"  said  Captain  Shirley, 
talking  to  us  but  watching  the  moving  light  intently, 
"briefly,  is  that  I  use  the  Hertzian  waves  to  actuate 
relays  on  the  Z99.  That  is,  I  send  a  child  with  a 
message,  the  grown  man,  through  the  relay,  so  to 
speak,  does  the  work.  So,  you  see,  I  can  sit  up  here 
and  send  my  little  David  out  anywhere  to  strike  down 
a  huge  Goliath. 

"I  won't  bore  you,  yet,  with  explanations  of  my 
radio-combinator,  the  telecommutator,  the  aerial  co- 
herer relay,  and  the  rest  of  the  technicalities  of  wire- 
less control  of  dirigible,  self-propelled  vessels.  They 
are  well  known,  beginning  with  pioneers  like  Wilson 
and  Gardner  in  England,  Roberts  in  Australia,  Wirth 
and  Lirpa  in  Germany,  Gabet  in  France,  and  Tesla, 
Edison,  Sims,  and  the  younger  Hammond  in  our  own 
country. 

"The  one  thing,  you  may  not  know,  that  has  kept  us 
back  while  wireless  telegraphy  has  gone  ahead  so  fast 
is  that  in  wireless  we  have  been  able  to  discard  co- 
herers and  relays  and  use  detectors  and  microphones 
in  their  places.  But  in  telautomatics  we  have  to  keep 
the  coherer.  That  has  been  the  barrier.  The  coherer 
until  recently  has  been  spasmodic,  until  we  had  Ham- 
mond's mercury  steel-disc  coherer  and  now  my  own. 
Why,"  he  cried,  "we  are  just  on  the  threshold,  now, 
of  this  great  science  which  Tesla  has  named  telauto- 
matics— the  electric  arm  that  we  can  stretch  out 
through  space  to  do  our  work  and  fight  our  battles." 

It  was  not  difficult  to  feel  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
captain  over  an  invention  of  such  momentous  possi- 


290  The  Dream  Doctor 

bilities,  especially  as  the  Z99  was  well  out  in  the 
harbour  now  and  we  could  see  her  flashing  her  red 
and  green  signal-lights  back  to  us. 

"You  see,"  the  captain  resumed,  "I  have  twelve 
numbers  here  on  the  keys  of  this  radio-combinator — 
forward,  back,  stop  propeller  motor,  rudder  right, 
rudder  left,  stop  steering  motor,  light  signals  front, 
light  signals  rear,  launch  torpedoes,  and  so  on.  The 
idea  is  that  of  a  delayed  contact.  The  machinery  is 
always  ready,  but  it  delays  a  few  seconds  until  the 
right  impulse  is  given,  a  purely  mechanical  problem. 
I  take  advantage  of  the  delay  to  have  the  message  re- 
peated by  a  signal  back  to  me.  I  can  even  change  it, 
then.  You  can  see  for  yourself  that  it  really  takes 
no  experience  to  run  the  thing  when  all  is  going 
right.  Gladys  has  done  it  frequently  herself.  All 
you  have  to  do  is  to  pay  attention,  and  press  the  right 
key  for  the  necessary  change.  It  is  when  things  go 
wrong  that  even  an  expert  like  myself — confound  it 
— there's  something  wrong!" 

The  Z99  had  suddenly  swerved.  Captain  Shir- 
ley's brow  knitted.  We  gathered  around  closer, 
Gladys  next  to  her  father  and  leaning  anxiously  over 
the  transmitting  apparatus. 

"I  wanted  to  turn  her  to  port  yet  she  goes  to  star- 
board, and  signals  starboard,  too.  There — now — she 
has  stopped  altogether.  What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

Gladys  stroked  the  old  seafarer's  hand  gently,  as 
he  sat  silently  at  the  table,  peering  with  contracted 
brows  out  into  the  now  brilliantly  moonlit  night. 

Shirley  looked  up  at  his  daughter,  and  the  lines 


The  Submarine  Mystery  291 

on  his  face  relaxed  as  though  he  would  hide  his  dis- 
appointment from  her  eager  eyes. 

"Confound  that  light !  What's  the  matter  with  it?" 
he  exclaimed,  changing  the  subject,  and  glancing  up 
at  the  gas-fixture. 

Kennedy  had  already  been  intently  looking  at  the 
Welsbach  burner  overhead,  which  had  been  flickering 
incessantly. 

"That  gas  company!"  added  the  Captain,  shaking 
his  head  in  disgust,  and  showing  annoyance  over  a 
trivial  thing  to  hide  deep  concern  over  a  greater,  as 
some  men  do.  "I  shall  use  the  electricity  altogether 
after  this  contract  with  the  company  expires.  I  sup- 
pose you  literary  men,  Mr.  Jameson,  would  call  that 
the  light  that  failed." 

There  was  a  forced  air  about  his  attempt  to  be  face- 
tious that  did  not  conceal,  but  rather  accentuated, 
the  undercurrent  of  feelings  in  him. 

"On  the  contrary,"  broke  in  Kennedy,  "I  shouldn't 
be  surprised  to  find  that  it  is  the  light  that  suc- 
ceeded." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"I  wouldn't  have  said  anything  about  it  if  you 
hadn't  noticed  it  yourself.  In  fact,  I  may  be  wrong. 
It  suggests  something  to  me,  but  it  will  need  a  good 
deal  of  work  to  verify  it,  and  then  it  may  not  be  of 
any  significance.  Is  that  the  way  the  Z99  has  be- 
haved always  lately?" 

"Yes,  but  I  know  that  she  hasn't  broken  down  of 
herself,"  Captain  Shirley  asserted.  "It  never  did  be- 
fore, not  since  I  perfected  that  new  coherer.  And 


292  The  Dream  Doctor 

now  it  always  does,  perhaps  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes 
after  I  start  her  out." 

Shirley  was  watching  the  lights  as  they  serpentined 
their  way  to  us  across  the  nearly  calm  water  of  the 
bay,  idly  toying  with  the  now  useless  combinator. 

"Wait  here,"  he  said,  rising  hurriedly.  "I  must 
send  my  motor-boat  out  there  to  pick  her  up  and  tow 
her  in." 

He  was  gone  down  the  flight  of  rustic  steps  on  the 
face  of  the  cliff  before  we  could  reply. 

"I  wish  father  wouldn't  take  it  to  heart  so/'  mur- 
mured Gladys.  "Sometimes  I  fear  that  success  or 
failure  of  this  boat  means  life  or  death  to  him." 

"That  is  exactly  why  we  are  here,"  reassured  Ken- 
nedy, turning  earnestly  to  her,  "to  help  him  to  settle 
this  thing  at  once.  This  is  a  beautiful  spot,"  he 
added,  as  we  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff  and  looked 
far  out  over  the  tossing  waves  of  the  sound. 

"What  is  on  that  other  point?"  asked  Kennedy, 
turning  again  toward  the  harbour  itself. 

"There  is  a  large  cottage  colony  there,"  she  replied. 
"Of  course  many  of  the  houses  are  still  closed  so  early 
in  the  season,  but  it  is  a  beautiful  place  in  the  sum- 
mer. The  hotel  over  there  is  open  now,  though." 

"You  must  have  a  lively  time  when  the  season  is 
at  its  height,"  ventured  Kennedy.  "Do  you  know  a 
cottager  there,  a  Mrs.  Brainard?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed.  I  have  known  her  in  Washing- 
ton for  some  time." 

"No  doubt  the  cottagers  envy  you  your  isolation 
here,"  remarked  Kennedy,  turning  and  surveying  the 
beautifully  kept  grounds.  "I  should  think  it  would 


The  Submarine  Mystery  293 

be  pleasant,  too,  to  have  an  old  Washington  friend 
here." 

"It  is.  We  often  invite  our  friends  over  for  lawn- 
parties  and  other  little  entertainments.  Mrs.  Brainard 
has  just  arrived  and  has  only  had  time  to  return  my 
first  visit  to  her,  but  I  expect  we  shall  have  some  good 
times  this  summer." 

It  was  evident,  at  least,  that  Gladys  was  not  con- 
cealing anything  about  her  friend,  whether  there  was 
any  suspicion  or  not  of  her. 

We  had  gone  into  the  house  to  await  the  return  of 
Captain  Shirley.  Burke  had  just  returned,  his  face 
betraying  that  he  was  bursting  with  news. 

"She's  here,  all  right,"  he  remarked  in  an  under- 
tone to  Kennedy,  "in  the  Stamford  cottage — quite  an 
outfit.  French  chauffeur,  two  Japanese  servants, 
maids,  and  all." 

"The  Stamford  cottage?"  repeated  Gladys.  "Why, 
that  is  where  Mrs.  Brainard  lives." 

She  gave  a  startled  glance  at  Kennedy,  as  she  sud- 
denly seemed  to  realise  that  both  he  and  the  secret- 
service  man  had  spoken  about  her  friend. 

"Yes,"  said  Burke,  noting  on  the  instant  the  perfect 
innocence  of  her  concern.  "What  do  you  know  about 
Mrs.  Brainard?  Who,  where  is,  Mr.  Brainard?" 

"Dead,  I  believe,"  Gladys  hesitated.  "Mrs.  Brain- 
ard has  been  well  known  in  Washington  circles  for 
years.  Indeed,  I  invited  her  with  us  the  night  of 
the  Manila  display." 

"And  Mr.  Nordheim?"  broke  in  Burke. 

"N-no,"  she  hesitated.  "He  was  there,  but  I  don't 
know  as  whose  guest." 


294  The  Dream  Doctor 

"Did  he  seem  very  friendly  with.  Mrs.  Brainard?" 
pursued  the  detective. 

I  thought  I  saw  a  shade  of  relief  pass  ovsr  her  face 
as  she  answered,  "Yes."  I  could  only  interpret  it 
that  perhaps  Nordheim  had  been  attentive  to  Gladys 
herself  and  that  she  had  not  welcomed  his  attentions. 

"I  may  as  well  tell  you,"  she  said,  at  length.  "It 
is  no  secret  in  our  set,  and  I  suppose  you  would  find 
it  out  soon,  anyhow.  It  is  said  that  he  is  engaged  to 
Mrs.  Brainard — that  is  all." 

"Engaged?"  repeated  Burke.  "Then  that  would 
account  for  his  being  at  the  hotel  here.  At  least,  it 
would  offer  an  excuse." 

Gladys  was  not  slow  to  note  the  stress  that  Burke 
laid  on  the  last  word. 

"Oh,  impossible,"  she  began  hurriedly,  "impossible 
that  he  could  have  known  anything  about  this  other 
matter.  Why,  she  told  me  he  was  to  sail  suddenly 
for  Germany  and  came  up  here  for  a  last  visit  before 
he  went,  and  to  arrange  to  come  back  on  his  return. 
Oh,  he  could  know  nothing — impossible." 

"Why  impossible?"  persisted  Burke.  "They  have 
submarines  in  Germany,  don't  they?  And  rival  com- 
panies, too." 

"Who  have  rival  companies?"  inquired  a  familiar 
voice.  It  was  Captain  Shirley,  who  had  returned  out 
of  breath  from  his  long  climb  up  the  steps  from  the 
shore. 

"The  Germans.  I  was  speaking  of  an  attach^ 
named  Nordheim." 

"Who  is  Nordheim?"  inquired  the  captain. 


The  Submarine  Mystery  295 

"You  met  him  at  the  Naval  building,  that  night, 
don't  you  remember?"  replied  Gladys. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  believe  I  do — dimly.  He  was  the  man 
who  seemed  so  devoted  to  Mrs.  Brainard." 

"I  think  he  is,  too,  father,"  she  replied  hastily. 
"He  has  been  suddenly  called  to  Berlin  and  planned  to 
spend  the  last  few  days  here,  at  the  hotel,  so  as  to  be 
near  her.  She  told  me  that  he  had  been  ordered  back 
to  Washington  again  before  he  sailed  and  had  had  to 
cut  his  visit  short." 

"When  did  you  first  notice  the  interference  with  the 
Turtle?"  asked  Burke.  "I  received  your  message 
this  morning." 

"Yesterday  morning  was  the  first,"  replied  the  cap- 
tain. 

"He  arrived  the  night  before  and  did  not  leave  un- 
til yesterday  afternoon,"  remarked  Burke. 

"A'nd  we  arrived  to-night,"  put  in  Craig  quietly. 
"The  interference  is  going  on  yet." 

"Then  the  Japs,"  I  cut  in,  at  last  giving  voice  to 
the  suspicion  I  had  of  the  clever  little  Orientals. 

"They  could  not  have  stolen  the  plans,"  asserted 
Burke,  shaking  his  head.  "No,  Nordheim  and  Mrs. 
Brainard  were  the  only  ones  who  could  have  got  into 
the  draughting-room  the  night  of  the  Manila  celebra- 
tion." 

"Burke,"  said  Kennedy,  rising,  "I  wish  you  would 
take  me  into  town.  There  are  a  few  messages  I  would 
like  to  send.  You  will  excuse  us,  Captain,  for  a  few 
hours?  Good  evening,  Miss  Shirley."  As  he  bowed 
I  heard  Kennedy  add  to  her:  "Don't  worry  about 


296  The  Dream  Doctor 

your  father.  Everything  will  come  out  all  right 
soon." 

Outside,  in  the  car  which  Burke  had  hired,  Craig 
added:  "Not  to  town.  That  was  an  excuse  not  to 
alarm  Mis§  Shirley  too  much  over  her  friend.  Take 
us  over  past  the  Stamford  cottage,  first." 

The  Stamford  cottage  was  on  the  beach,  between 
the  shore  front  and  the  road.  It  was  not  a  new  place, 
but  was  built  in  the  hideous  style  of  some  thirty  years 
ago  with  all  sorts  of  little  turned  and  knobby  orna- 
ments. We  paused  down  the  road  a  bit,  though  not 
long  enough  to  attract  attention.  There  were  lights 
on  every  floor  of  the  cottage,  although  most  of  the 
neighbouring  cottages  were  dark. 

"Well  protected  by  lightning-rods,"  remarked  Ken- 
nedy, as  he  looked  the  Stamford  cottage  over  nar- 
rowly. "We  might  as  well  drive  on.  Keep  an  eye  on 
the  hotel,  Burke.  It  may  be  that  Nordheim  intends 
to  return,  after  all." 

"Assuming  that  he  has  left,"  returned  the  secret- 
service  man. 

"But  you  said  he  had  left,"  said  Kennedy.  "What 
do  you  mean?" 

"I  hardly  know  myself,"  wearily  remarked  Burke, 
on  whom  the  strain  of  the  case,  to  which  we  were  still 
fresh,  had  begun  to  tell.  "I  only  know  that  I  called 
up  Washington  after  I  heard  he  had  been  at  the  hotel, 
and  no  one  at  our  headquarters  knew  that  he  had  re- 
turned. They  may  have  fallen  down,  but  they  were 
to  watch  both  his  rooms  and  the  embassy." 

"H-m,"  mused  Kennedy.  "Why  didn't  you  say 
that  before?" 


The  Submarine  Mystery  297 

"Why,  I  assumed  that  he  had  gone  back,  until  you 
told  me  there  was  interference  to-night,  too.  Now, 
until  I  can  locate  him  definitely  I'm  all  at  seu — that's 
all." 

It  was  now  getting  late  in  the  evening,  but  Ken- 
nedy had  evidently  no  intention  of  returning  yet  to 
Lookout  Hill.  We  paused  at  the  hotel,  which  was  in 
the  centre  of  the  cottage  colony,  and  flanked  by  a  hill 
that  ran  back  of  the  colony  diagonally  and  from  which 
a  view  of  both  the  hotel  and  the  cottages  could  be  ob- 
tained. Burke's  inquiries  developed  the  fact  that 
Nordheim  had  left  very  hurriedly  and  in  some  agita- 
tion. "To  tell  you  the  truth,"  confided  the  clerk, 
with  whom  Burke  had  ingratiated  himself,  "I  thought 
he  acted  like  a  man  who  was  watched." 

Late  as  it  was,  Kennedy  insisted  on  motoring  to 
the  railroad  station  and  catching  the  last  train  to 
New  York.  As  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  that  I 
could  do  at  Lookout  Hill,  I  accompanied  him  on  the 
long  and  tedious  ride,  which  brought  us  back  to  the 
city  in  the  early  hours  of  the  morning. 

We  stopped  just  long  enough  to  run  up  to  the  labo- 
ratory and  to  secure  a  couple  of  little  instruments 
which  looked  very  much  like  small  incandescent 
lamps  in  a  box.  Then,  by  the  earliest  train  from 
New  York,  we  returned  to  Lookout  Hill,  with  only 
such  sleep  as  Kennedy  had  predicted,  snatched  in  the 
day  coaches  of  the  trains  and  during  a  brief  wait  in 
the  station. 

A  half-hour's  freshening  up  with  a  dip  in  the  biting 
cold  water  of  the  bay,  breakfast  with  Captain  Shirley 
and  Miss  Gladys,  and  a  return  to  the  excitement  of 


298  The  Dream  Doctor 

the  case,  had  to  serve  in  place  of  rest.  Burke  disap- 
peared, after  a  hasty  conference  with  Kennedy,  pre- 
sumably to  watch  Mrs.  Brainard,  the  hotel,  and  the 
Stamford  cottage  to  see  who  went  in  and  out. 

"I've  had  the  Z99  brought  out  of  its  shed,"  re- 
marked the  captain,  as  we  rose  from  the  breakfast- 
table.  "There  was  nothing  wrong  as  far  as  I  could 
discover  last  night  or  by  a  more  careful  inspection 
this  morning.  I'd  like  to  have  you  take  a  look  at 
her  now,  in  the  daylight." 

"I  was  about  to  suggest,"  remarked  Kennedy,  as 
we  descended  the  steps  to  the  shore,  "that  perhaps, 
first,  it  might  be  well  to  take  a  short  run  in  her  with 
the  crew,  just  to  make  sure  that  there  is  nothing 
wrong  with  the  machinery." 

"A  good  idea,"  agreed  the  captain. 

We  came  to  the  submarine,  lying  alongside  the  dock 
and  looking  like  a  huge  cigar.  The  captain  preceded 
us  down  the  narrow  hatchway,  and  I  followed  Craig. 
The  deck  was  cleared,  the  hatch  closed,  and  the  vessel 
sealed. 


XX 

The  Wireless  Detector 

REMEMBERING  Jules  Verne's  enticing  pic- 
ture of  life  on  the  palatial  Nautilus,  I  may 
as  well  admit  that  I  was  not  prepared  for  a  real  sub- 
marine. My  first  impression,  as  I  entered  the  hold, 
\ras  that  of  discomfort  and  suffocation.  I  felt,  too, 
that  I  was  too  close  to  too  much  whirring  machinery. 
I  gazed  about  curiously.  On  all  sides  were  electrical 
devices  and  machines  to  operate  the  craft  and  the  tor- 
pedoes. I  thought,  also,  that  the  water  outside  was 
uncomfortably  close;  one  could  almost  feel  it.  The 
Z99  was  low  roofed,  damp,  with  an  intricate  system  of 
rods,  controls,  engines,  tanks,  stop-cocks,  compasses, 
gauges — more  things  than  it  seemed  the  human  mind, 
to  say  nothing  of  wireless,  could  possibly  attend  to 
at  once. 

"The  policy  of  secrecy  which  governments  keep  in 
regard  to  submarines,"  remarked  the  captain,  running 
his  eye  over  everything  at  once,  it  seemed,  "has  led 
them  to  be  looked  upon  as  something  mysterious.  But 
whatever  you  may  think  of  telautomatics,  there  is 
really  no  mystery  about  an  ordinary  submarine." 

I  did  not  agree  with  our  "Captain  Nemo,"  as,  the 
examination  completed,  he  threw  in  a  switch.  The 
motor  started.  The  ZOO  hummed  and  trembled.  The 
fumes  of  gasoline  were  almost  suffocating  at  first,  in 

299 


300  The  Dream  Doctor 

spite  of  the  prompt  ventilation  to  clear  them  off. 
There  was  no  escape  from  the  smell.  I  had  heard  of 
"gasoline  heart,"  but  the  odour  only  made  me  sick 
and  dizzy.  Like  most  novices,  I  suppose,  I  was  suf- 
fering excruciating  torture.  Not  so,  Kennedy.  He 
got  used  to  it  in  no  time ;  indeed,  seemed  to  enjoy  the 
very  discomfort. 

I  felt  that  there  was  only  one  thing  necessary  to  add 
to  it,  and  that  was  the  odour  of  cooking.  Cooking, 
by  the  way,  on  a  submarine  is  uncertain  and  disa- 
greeable. There  was  a  little  electric  heater,  I  found, 
which  might  possibly  have  heated  enough  water  for 
one  cup  of  coffee  at  a  time. 

In  fact,  space  was  economised  to  the  utmost.  Only 
the  necessaries  of  life  were  there.  Every  inch  that 
could  be  spared  was  given  over  to  machinery.  It 
was  everywhere,  compact,  efficient — everything  for 
running  the  boat  under  water,  guiding  it  above  and 
below,  controlling  its  submersion,  compressing  airj; 
firing  torpedoes,  and  a  thousand  other  things.  It 
was  wonderful  as  it  was.  But  when  one  reflected 
that  all  could  be  done  automatically,  or  rather  telau- 
tomatically,  it  was  simply  astounding. 

"You  see,"  observed  Captain  Shirley,  "when  sho 
is  working  automatically  neither  the  periscope  nor  the 
wireless-mast  shows.  The  wireless  impulses  are  car- 
ried down  to  her  from  an  inconspicuous  float  which 
trails  along  the  surface  and  carries  a  short  aerial 
with  a  wire  running  down,  like  a  mast,  forming  prac 
tically  invisible  antennae." 

As  he  was  talking  the  boat  was  being  "trimmed" 
by  admitting  water  as  ballast  into  the  proper  tanks. 


The  Wireless  Detector  301 

"The  Z99,"  he  went  on,  "is  a  submersible,  not  a 
diving,  submarine.  That  is  to  say,  the  rudder  guides 
it  and  changes  the  angle  of  the  boat.  But  the  hydro- 
planes pull  it  up  and  down,  two  pairs  of  them  set  fore 
and  aft  of  the  centre  of  gravity.  They  lift  or  lower 
the  boat  bodily  on  an  even  keel,  not  by  plunging  and 
diving.  I  will  now  set  the  hydroplanes  at  ten  degrees 
down  and  the  horizontal  rudder  two  degrees  up,  and 
the  boat  will  submerge  to  a  depth  of  thirty  feet  and 
run  constant  at  that  depth." 

He  had  shut  off  the  gasoline  motor  and  started  the 
storage-battery  electric  motor,  which  was  used  when 
running  submerged.  The  great  motors  gave  out  a 
strange,  humming  sound.  The  crew  conversed  in 
low,  constrained  tones.  There  was  a  slightly  percep- 
tible jar,  and  the  boat  seemed  to  quiver  just  a  bit 
from  stem  to  stern.  In  front  of  Shirley  was  a  gauge 
which  showed  the  depth  of  submergence  and  a  spirit- 
level  which  showed  any  inclination. 

"Submerged,"  he  remarked,  "is  like  running  on  the 
surface  under  dense-fog  conditions." 

I  did  not  agree  with  those  who  have  said  there  is 
no  difference  running  submerged  or  on  the  surface. 
Under  way  on  the  surface  was  one  thing.  But  when 
we  dived  it  was  most  unpleasant.  I  had  been  reas- 
sured at  the  start  when  I  heard  that  there  were  ten 
compressed-air  tanks  under  a  pressure  of  two  thou- 
sand pounds  to  the  square  inch.  But  only  once  be- 
fore had  I  breathed  compressed  air  and  that  was 
when  one  of  our  cases  once  took  us  down  into  the  tun- 
nels below  the  rivers  of  New  York.  It  was  not  a  new 
sensation,  but  at  fifty  feet  depth  I  felt  a  little  tingling 


302  The  Dream  Doctor 

all  over  my  body,  a  pounding  of  the  ear-drums,  and 
just  a  trace  of  nausea. 

Kennedy  smiled  as  I  moved  about.  "Never  mind, 
Walter,"  he  said.  "I  know  how  you  feel  on  a  first 
trip.  One  minute  you  are  choking  from  lack  of  oxy- 
gen, then  in  another  part  of  the  boat  you  are  exhila- 
rated by  too  much  of  it.  Still,"  he  winked,  "don't  for- 
get that  it  is  regulated." 

"Well,"  I  returned,  "all  I  can  say  is  that  if  war  is 
hell,  a  submarine  is  war." 

I  had,  however,  been  much  interested  in  the  things 
about  me.  Forward,  the  torpedo-discharge  tubes  and 
other  apparatus  about  the  little  doors  in  the  vessel's 
nose  made  it  look  somewhat  like  the  shield  used  in 
boring  a  tunnel  under  compressed  air. 

"Ordinary  torpedo-boats  use  the  regular  automo- 
bile torpedo,"  remarked  Captain  Shirley,  coming 
ubiquitously  up  behind  me.  "I  improve  on  that.  I 
can  discharge  the  telautomobile  torpedo,  and  guide  it 
either  from  the  boat,  as  we  are  now,  or  from  the  land 
station  where  we  were  last  night,  at  will." 

There  was  something  more  than  pride  in  his  man- 
ner. He  was  deadly  in  earnest  about  his  invention. 
We  had  come  over  to  the  periscope,  the  "eye"  of  the 
submarine  when  she  is  running  just  under  the  sur- 
face, but  of  no  use  that  we  were  below.  "Yes,"  he 
remarked,  in  answer  to  my  half -spoken  question, 
"that  is  the  periscope.  Usually  there  is  one  fixed  to 
look  ahead  and  another  that  is  movable,  in  order  to 
take  in  what  is  on  the  sides  and  in  the  rear.  I  have 
both  of  those.  But,  in  addition,  I  have  the  universal 
periscope,  the  eye  that  sees  all  around,  three  hundred 


The  Wireless  Detector  303 

and  jsixty  degrees — a  very  clever  application  of  an 
annular  prism  with  objectives,  condenser,  and  two 
eyepieces  of  low  and  high  power." 

A  call  from  one  of  the  crew  took  him  into  the  stern 
to  watch  the  operation  of  something,  leaving  me  to 
myself,  for  Kennedy  was  roaming  about  on  a  still 
hunt  for  anything  that  might  suggest  itself.  The 
safety  devices,  probably  more  than  any  other  single 
thing,  interested  me,  for  I  had  read  with  peculiar  fas- 
cination of  the  great  disasters  to  the  Lutin,  the  Pluvi- 
ose,  the  Farfardet,  the  A8,  the  Foca,  the  Kambala,  the 
Japanese  No  6,  the  German  JJ3,  and  others. 

Below  us  I  knew  there  was  a  keel  that  could  be 
dropped,  lightening  the  boat  considerably.  Also, 
there  was  the  submarine  bell,  immersed  in  a  tank  of 
water,  with  telephone  receivers  attached  by  which 
one  could  "listen  in,"  for  example,  before  rising,  say, 
from  sixty  feet  to  twenty  feet,  and  thus  "hear"  the 
hulls  of  other  ships.  The  bell  was  struck  by  means  of 
air  pressure,  and  was  the  same  as  that  used  for  sub- 
marine signalling  on  ships.  Water,  being  dense,  is  an 
excellent  conductor  of  sound.  Even  in  the  submarine 
itself,  I  could  hear  the  muffled  clang  of  the  gong. 

Then  there  were  buoys  which  could  be  released  and 
would  fly  to  the  surface,  carrying  within  them  a  tele- 
phone, a  light,  and  a  whistle.  I  knew  also  something 
of  the  explosion  dangers  on  a  submarine,  both  from 
the  fuel  oil  used  when  running  on  the  surface,  and 
from  the  storage  batteries  used  when  running  sub- 
merged. Once  in  a  while  a  sailor  would  take  from  a 
jar  a  piece  of  litmus  paper  and  expose  it,  showing 
only  a  slight  discolouration  due  to  carbon  dioxide.. 

20 


304  The  Dream  Doctor 

That  was  the  least  of  my  troubles.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments, also,  the  white  mice  in  a  cage  interested  me. 
White  mice  were  carried  because  they  dislike  the 
odour  of  gasoline  and  give  warning  of  any  leakage  by 
loud  squeals. 

The  fact  was  that  there  was  so  much  of  interest 
that,  the  first  discomfort  over,  I  was,  like  Kennedy, 
beginning  really  to  enjoy  the  trip. 

I  was  startled  suddenly  to  hear  the  motors  stop. 
There  was  no  more  of  that  interminable  buzzing.  The 
Z99  responded  promptly  to  the  air  pressure  that  was 
forcing  the  water  out  of  the  tanks.  The  gauge 
showed  that  we  were  gradually  rising  on  an  even 
keel.  A  man  sprang  up  the  narrow  hatchway  and 
opened  the  cover  through  which  we  could  see  a  little 
patch  of  blue  sky  again.  The  gasoline  motor  was 
started,  and  we  ran  leisurely  back  to  the  dock.  The 
trip  was  over — safely.  As  we  landed  I  felt  a  sense  of 
gladness  to  get  away  from  that  feeling  of  being  cut 
off  from  the  world.  It  was  not  fear  of  death  or  of 
the  water,  as  nearly  as  I  could  analyse  it,  but  merely 
that  terrible  sense  of  isolation  from  man  and  nature 
as  we  know  it, 

A  message  from  Burke  was  waiting  for  Kennedy 
at  the  wharf.  He  read  it  quickly,  then  handed  it  to 
Captain  Shirley  and  myself. 

Have  just  received  a  telegram  from  Washington.  Great  ex- 
citement at  the  embassy.  Cipher  telegram  has  been  despatched 
to  the  Titan  Iron  Works.  One  of  my  men  in  Washington  reports 
a  queer  experience.  He  had  been  following  one  of  the  members 
of  the  embassy  staff,  who  saw  he  was  being  shadowed,  turned 
suddenly  on  the  man,  and  exclaimed,  "Why  are  you  hounding 
us  still?"  What  do  you  make  of  it?  No  trace  yet  of  Nordheim. 

BUBKE. 


The  Wireless  Detector  305 

The  lines  in  Craig's  face  deepened  in  thought  as 
he  folded  the  message  and  remarked  abstractedly, 
"She  works  all  right  when  you  are  aboard."  Then 
he  recalled  himself.  "Let  us  try  her  again  without  a 
crew." 

Five  minutes  later  we  had  ascended  to  the  aerial 
conning-tower,  and  all  was  in  readiness  to  repeat  the 
trial  of  the  night  before.  Vicious  and  sly  the  Z99 
looked  in  the  daytime  as  she  slipped  off,  under  the 
unseen  guidance  of  the  wireless,  with  death  hidden 
under  her  nose.  Just  as  during  the  first  trial  we  had 
witnessed,  she  began  by  fulfilling  the  highest  expec- 
tations. Straight  as  an  arrow  she  shot  out  of  the  har- 
bour's mouth,  half  submerged,  with  her  periscope 
sticking  up  and  bearing  the  flag  proudly  flapping, 
leaving  behind  a  wake  of  white  foam. 

She  turned  and  re-entered  the  harbour,  obeying 
Captain  Shirley's  every  whim,  twisting  in  and  out  of 
the  shipping  much  to  the  amazement  of  the  old  salts, 
who  had  never  become  used  to  the  weird  sight.  She 
cut  a  figure  eight,  stopped,  started  again. 

Suddenly  I  could  see  by  the  look  on  Captain  Shir- 
ley's face  that  something  was  wrong.  Before  either 
of  us  could  speak,  there  was  a  spurt  of  water  out  in 
the  harbour,  a  cloud  of  spray,  and  the  Z99  sank  in  a 
mass  of  bubbles.  She  had  heeled  over  and  was  rest- 
ing on  the  mud  and  ooze  of  the  harbour  bottom.  The 
water  had  closed  over  her,  and  she  was  gone. 

Instantly  all  the  terrible  details  of  the  sinking  of 
the  Lutin  and  other  submarines  flashed  over  me.  I 
fancied  I  could  see  on  the  Z99  the  overturned  ac- 
cumulators. I  imagined  the  stifling  fumes,  the  strug- 


306  The  Dream  Doctor 

gle  for  breath  in  the  suddenly  darkened  hull.  Al* 
most  as  if  it  had  happened  half  an  hour  ago,  I  saw  it. 

"Thank  God  for  telautomatics,"  I  murmured,  as  the 
thought  swept  over  me  of  what  we  had  escaped.  "No 
one  was  aboard  her,  at  least." 

Chlorine  was  escaping  rapidly  from  the  overturned 
storage  batteries,  for  a  grave  danger  lurks  in  the 
presence  of  sea  water,  in  a  submarine,  in  combi- 
nation with  any  of  the  sulphuric  acid.  Salt  water 
and  sulphuric  acid  produce  chlorine  gas,  and  a  pint 
of  it  inside  a  good-sized  submarine  would  be  sufficient 
to  render  unconscious  the  crew  of  a  boat.  I  began  to 
realise  the  risks  we  had  run,  which  my  confidence  in 
Captain  Shirley  had  minimised.  I  wondered  whether 
hydrogen  in  dangerous  quantities  might  not  be  given 
off,  and  with  the  short-circuiting  of  the  batteries  per- 
haps explode.  Nothing  more  happened,  however. 
All  kinds  of  theories  suggested  themselves.  Perhaps 
in  some  way  the  gasoline  motor  had  been  started  while 
the  boat  was  depressed,  the  "gas"  had  escaped,  com- 
bined with  air,  and  a  spark  had  caused  an  explosion. 
There  were  so  many  possibilities  that  it  staggered 
me.  Captain  Shirley  sat  stunned. 

Yet  here  wras  the  one  great  question,  Whence  had 
come  the  impulse  that  had  sent  the  famous  Z99  to 
her  fate? 

"Could  it  have  been  through  something  internal?'' 
I  asked.  "Could  a  current  from  one  of  the  batteries 
have  influenced  the  receiving  apparatus?" 

"No,"  replied  the  captain  mechanically.  "I  have 
a  secret  method  of  protecting  my  receiving  instru- 
ments from  such  impulses  within  the  hull." 


The  Wireless  Detector  307 

Kennedy  was  sitting  silently  in  the  corner,  oblivi- 
ous to  ns  up  to  this  point. 

"But  not  to  impulses  from  outside  the  hull,"  he 
broke  in. 

Unobserved,  he  had  been  bending  over  one  of  the 
little  instruments  which  had  kept  us  up  all  night  and 
had  cost  a  tedious  trip  to  New  York  and  back. 

"What's  that?"  I  asked. 

"This?  This  is  a  little  instrument  known  as  the 
audion,  a  wireless  electric-wave  detector." 

"Outside  the  hull?"  repeated  Shirley,  still  dazed. 

"Yes,"  cried  Kennedy  excitedly.  "I  got  my  first 
clue  from  that  flickering  Welsbach  mantle  last  night. 
Of  course  it  flickered  from  the  wireless  we  were  using, 
but  it  kept  on.  You  know  in  the  gas-mantle  there  is 
matter  in  a  most  mobile  and  tenuous  state,  very  sensi- 
tive to  heat  and  sound  vibrations. 

"Now,  the  audion,  as  you  see,  consists  of  two  plat- 
inum wings,  parallel  to  the  plane  of  a  bowed  filament 
of  an  incandescent  light  in  a  vacuum.  It  was  in- 
vented by  Dr.  Lee  DeForest  to  detect  wireless.  When 
the  light  is  turned  on  and  the  little  tantalum  filament 
glows,  it  is  ready  for  business. 

"It  can  be  used  for  all  systems  of  wireless — singing 
spark,  quenched  spark,  arc  sets,  telephone  sets;  in 
fact,  it  will  detect  a  wireless  wave  from  whatever 
source  it  is  sent.  It  is  so  susceptible  that  a  man 
with  one  attached  to  an  ordinary  steel-rod  umbrella 
on  a  rainy  night  can  pick  up  wireless  messages  that 
are  being  transmitted  within  some  hundreds  of  miles 
radius." 

The  audion  buzzed. 


308  The  Dream  Doctor 

"There — see?  Our  wireless  is  not  working.  But 
with  the  auction  you  can  see  that  some  wireless  is,  and 
a  fairly  near  and  powerful  source  it  is,  too." 

Kennedy  was  absorbed  in  watching  the  audion. 

Suddenly  he  turned  and  faced  us.  He  had  evi- 
dently reached  a  conclusion.  "Captain,"  he  cried, 
"can  you  send  a  wireless  message?  Yes?  Well,  this 
is  to  Burke.  He  is  over  there  back  of  the  hotel  on 
the  hill  with  some  of  his  men.  He  has  one  there  who 
understands  wireless,  and  to  whom  I  have  given  an- 
other audion.  Quick,  before  this  other  wireless  cuts 
in  on  us  again.  I  want  others  to  get  the  message  as 
well  as  Burke.  Send  this:  'Have  your  men  watch 
the  railroad  station  and  every  road  to  it.  Surround 
the  Stamford  cottage.  There  is  some  wireless  inter- 
ference from  that  direction.' ' 

As  Shirley,  with  a  half-insane  light  in  his  eyes, 
flashed  the  message  mechanically  through  space, 
Craig  rose  and  signalled  to  the  house.  Under  the 
portecochere  I  saw  a  waiting  automobile,  which  an 
instant  later  tore  up  the  broken-stone  path  and 
whirled  around  almost  on  two  wheels  near  the  edge 
of  the  cliff.  Glowing  with  health  and  excitement, 
Gladys  Shirley  was  at  the  wheel  herself.  In  spite  of 
the  tenseness  of  the  situation,  I  could  not  help  stop- 
ping to  admire  the  change  in  the  graceful,  girlish 
figure  of  the  night  before,  which  was  now  all  lithe  en- 
ergy and  alertness  in  her  eager  devotion  to  carrying 
out  the  minutest  detail  of  Kennedy's  plan  to  aid  her 
father. 

"Excellent,  Miss  Shirley,"  exclaimed  Kennedy, 
"but  when  I  asked  Burke  to  have  you  keep  a  car  in 


The  Wireless  Detector  309 

readiness,  I  had  no  idea  you  would  drive  it  yourself." 

"I  like  it,"  she  remonstrated,  as  he  offered  to  take 
the  wheel.  "Please — please — let  me  drive.  I  shall 
go  crazy  if  I'm  not  doing  something.  I  saw  the  Z99 
go  down.  What  was  it?  Who — 

"Captain,"  called  Craig.  "Quick — into  the  car. 
We  must  hurry.  To  the  Stamford  house,  Miss  Shir- 
ley. No  one  can  get  away  from  it  before  we  arrive. 
It  is  surrounded." 

Everything  was  quiet,  apparently,  about  the  house 
as  our  wild  ride  around  the  edge  of  the  harbour  ended 
under  the  deft  guidance  of  Gladys  Shirley.  Here  and 
there,  behind  a  hedge  or  tree,  I  could  see  a  lurking 
secret-service  man.  Burke  joined  us  from  behind  a 
barn  next  door. 

"Not  a  soul  has  gone  in  or  out,"  he  whispered. 
"There  does  not  seem  to  be  a  sign  of  life  there." 

Craig  and  Burke  had  by  this  time  reached  the  broad 
veranda.  They  did  not  wait  to  ring  the  bell,  but  car- 
ried the  door  down  literally  off  its  hinges.  We  fol- 
lowed closely. 

A  scream  from  the  drawing-room  brought  us  to  a 
halt.  It  was  Mrs.  Brainard,  tall,  almost  imperial  in 
her  loose  morning  gown,  her  dark  eyes  snapping  fire 
at  the  sudden  intrusion.  I  could  not  tell  whether  she 
had  really  noticed  that  the  house  was  watched  or  was 
acting  a  part. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  she  demanded.  "What — 
Gladys — you — " 

"Florence — tell  them — it  isn't  so — is  it?  You 
don't  know  a  thing  about  those  plans  of  father's  that 
were — stolen — that  night." 


310  The  Dream  Doctor 

"Where  is  Nordheim?"  interjected  Burke  quickly, 
a  little  of  his  "third  degree"  training  getting  the  up- 
per hand. 

"Nordheim?" 

"Yes — you  know.     Tell  me.     Is  he  here?" 

"Here?  Isn't  it  bad  enough  to  hound  him,  without 
hounding  me,  too?  Will  you  merciless  detectives 
drive  us  all  from  place  to  place  with  your  brutal  sus- 
picions?" 

"Merciless?"  inquired  Burke,  smiling  with  sarcasm. 
"Who  has  been  hounding  him?" 

"You  know  very  well  what  I  mean,"  she  repeated, 
drawing  herself  up  to  her  full  height  and  patting 
Gladys's  hand  to  reassure  her.  "Read  that  message 
on  the  table." 

Burke  picked  up  a  yellow  telegram  dated  New  York, 
two  days  before. 

It  was  as  I  feared  when  I  left  you.  The  secret  service  must 
have  rummaged  my  baggage  both  here  and  at  the  hotel.  They 
have  taken  some  very  vaulable  papers  of  mine. 

"Secret  service — rummage  baggage?"  repeated 
Burke,  himself  now  in  perplexity.  "That  is  news  to 
me.  We  have  rummaged  no  trunks  or  bags,  least  of 
all  Nordheim's.  In  fact,  we  have  never  been  able 
to  find  them  at  all." 

"Upstairs,  Burke — the  servants'  quarters,"  inter- 
rupted Craig  impatiently.  "We  are  wasting  time 
here." 

Mrs.  Brainard  offered  no  protest.  I  began  to  think 
that  the  whole  thing  was  indeed  a  surprise  to  her, 
and  that  she  had,  in  fact,  been  reading,  instead  of  mak- 


The  Wireless  Detector  311 

ing  a  studied  effort  to  appear  surprised  at  our  intru- 
sion. 

Room  after  room  was  flung  open  without  finding 
any  one,  until  we  reached  the  attic,  which  had  been 
finished  off  into  several  rooms.  One  door  was  closed. 
Craig  opened  it  cautiously.  It  was  pitch  dark  in 
spite  of  the  broad  daylight  outside.  We  entered  gin- 
gerly. 

On  the  floor  lay  two  dark  piles  of  something.  My 
foot  touched  one  of  them.  I  drew  back  in  horror  at 
the  feeling.  It  was  the  body  of  a  man. 

Kennedy  struck  a  light,  and  as  he  bent  over  in  its 
little  circle  of  radiance,  he  disclosed  a  ghastly  scene. 

"Hari-kiri!"  he  ejaculated.  "They  must  have  got 
my  message  to  Burke  and  have  seen  that  the  house 
was  surrounded." 

The  two  Japanese  servants  had  committed  suicide. 

"Wh-what  does  it  all  mean?"  gasped  Mrs.  Brainard, 
who  had  followed  us  upstairs  with  Gladys. 

Burke's  lip  curled  slightly  and  he  was  about  to 
speak. 

"It  means,"  hastened  Kennedy,  "that  you  have  been 
double  crossed,  Mrs.  Brainard.  Nordheim  stole  those 
plans  of  Captain  Shirley's  submarine  for  his  Titan 
Iron  Works.  Then  the  Japs  stole  them  from  his  bag- 
gage at  the  hotel.  He  thought  the  secret  service  had 
them.  The  Japs  waited  here  just  long  enough  to  try 
the  plans  against  the  Z99  herself — to  destroy  Captain 
Shirley's  work  by  his  own  method  of  destruction.  It 
was  clever,  clever.  It  would  make  his  labours  seem 
like  a  failure  and  would  discourage  others  from  keep- 
ing up  the  experiments.  They  had  planned  to  steal 


312  The  Dream  Doctor 

a  march  on  the  world.  Every  time  the  Z99  was  out 
they  worked  up  here  with  their  improvised  wireless 
until  they  found  the  wave-length  Shirley  was  using. 
It  took  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  but  they  managed, 
finally,  to  interfere  so  that  they  sent  the  submarine 
to  the  bottom  of  the  harbour.  Instead  of  being  the 
criminal,  Burke,  Mrs.  Brainard  is  the  victim,  the  vic- 
tim both  of  Nordheini  and  of  her  servants." 

Craig  had  thrown  open  a  window  and  had  dropped 
down  on  his  knees  before  a  little  stove  by  which  the 
room  was  heated.  He  was  poking  eagerly  in  a  pile 
of  charred  paper  and  linen. 

"Shirley,"  he  cried,  "your  secret  is  safe,  even 
though  the  duplicate  plans  were  stolen.  There  will 
be  no  more  interference." 

The  Captain  seized  Craig  by  both  hands  and  wrung 
them  like  the  handle  of  a  pump. 

"Oh,  thank  you — thank  you — thank  you,"  cried 
Gladys,  running  up  and  almost  dancing  with  joy  at 
the  change  in  her  father.  "I — I  could  almost — kiss 
you!" 

"I  could  let  you,"  twinkled  Craig,  promptly,  as  she 
blushed  deeply.  "Thank  you,  too,  Mrs.  Brainard," 
he  added,  turning  to  acknowledge  her  congratulations 
also.  "I  am  glad  I  have  been  able  to  be  of  service  to 
you." 

"Won't  you  come  back  to  the  house  for  dinner?" 
urged  the  Captain. 

Kennedy  looked  at  me  and  smiled.  "Walter,"  he 
said,  "this  is  no  place  for  two  old  bachelors  like 
us." 

Then  turning,  he  added,  "Many  thanks,  sir, — but, 


The  Wireless  Detector  313 

seriously,  last  night  we  slept  principally  in  day 
coaches.  Really  I  must  turn  the  case  over  to  Burke 
now  and  get  back  to  the  city  to-night  early." 

They  insisted  on  accompanying  us  to  the  station, 
and  there  the  congratulations  were  done  all  over 
again. 

"Why,"  exclaimed  Kennedy,  as  we  settled  ourselves 
in  the  Pullman  after  waving  a  final  good-bye,  "I 
shall  be  afraid  to  go  back  to  that  town  again.  I — I 
almost  did  kiss  her !" 

Then  his  face  settled  into  its  usual  stern  lines,  al- 
though softened,  I  thought.  I  am  sure  that  it  was 
not  the  New  England  landscape,  with  its  quaint  stone 
fences,  that  he  looked  at  out  of  the  window,  but  the 
recollection  of  the  bright  dashing  figure  of  Gladys 
Shirley. 

It  was  seldom  that  a  girl  made  so  forcible  an  im- 
pression on  Kennedy,  I  know,  for  on  our  return  he 
fairly  dived  into  work,  like  the  Z99  herself,  and  I  did 
not  see  him  all  the  next  day  until  just  before  dinner 
time.  Then  he  came  in  and  spent  half  an  hour  re- 
storing his  acid-stained  fingers  to  something  like  hu- 
man semblance. 

He  said  nothing  about  his  research  work  of  the  day, 
and  I  was  just  about  to  remark  that  a  day  had  passed 
without  its  usual  fresh  alarum  and  excursion,  when  a 
tap  on  the  door  buzzer  was  followed  by  the  entrance  of 
our  old  friend  Andrews,  head  of  the  Great  Eastern 
Life  Insurance  Company's  own  detective  service. 

"Kennedy,"  he  began,  "I  have  a  startling  case  for 
you.  Can  you  help  me  out  with  it?" 

As  he  sat  down  heavily,  he  pulled  from  his  immense 


314  The  Dream  Doctor 

black  wallet  some  scraps  of  paper  and  newspaper 
cuttings. 

"You  recall,  I  suppose,"  he  went  on,  unfolding  the 
papers  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  "the  recent 
death  of  young  Montague  Phelps,  at  Woodbine,  just 
outside  the  city?" 

Kennedy  nodded.  The  death  of  Phelps,  about  ten 
days  before,  had  attracted  nation-wide  attention  be- 
cause of  the  heroic  fight  for  life  he  had  made  against 
what  the  doctors  admitted  had  puzzled  them — a  new 
and  baffling  manifestation  of  coma.  They  had  la- 
boured hard  to  keep  him  awake,  but  had  not  suc- 
ceeded, and  after  several  days  of  lying  in  a  comatose 
state  he  had  finally  succumbed.  It  was  one  of  those 
strange  but  rather  frequent  cases  of  long  sleeps  re- 
ported in  the  newspapers,  although  it  was  by  no  means 
one  which  might  be  classed  as  record-breaking. 

The  interest  in  Phelps  lay,  a  great  deal,  in  the  fact 
that  the  young  man  had  married  the  popular  dancer, 
Anginette  Petrovska,  a  few  months  previously.  His 
honeymoon  trip  around  the  world  had  suddenly  been 
interrupted,  while  the  couple  were  crossing  Siberia, 
by  the  news  of  the  failure  of  the  Phelps  banking-house 
in  Wall  Street  and  the  practical  wiping-out  of  his  for- 
tune. He  had  returned,  only  to  fall  a  victim  to  a 
greater  misfortune. 

"A  few  days  before  his  death,"  continued  Andrews, 
measuring  his  words  carefully,  "I,  or  rather  the  Great 
Eastern,  which  had  been  secretly  investigating  the 
case,  received  this  letter.  What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

He  spread  out  on  the  table  a  crumpled  note  in  a  pal- 
pably disguised  handwriting: 


The  Wireless  Detector  315 

To  WHOM  IT  MAT  CONCEBN: 

You  would  do  well  to  look  into  the  death  of  Montague  Phelps, 
Jr.  I  accuse  no  one,  assert  nothing.  But  when  a  young  man, 
apparently  in  the  best  of  health,  drops  off  so  mysteriously  and 
even  the  physician  in  the  case  can  give  no  very  convincing  in- 
formation, that  case  warrants  attention.  I  know  what  I  know. 

AN  OUTSIDER. 


XXI 

The  Ghouls 

&  4TT  TT-M,"  mused  Kennedy,  weighing  the  contents 
X7X  of  the  note  carefully,  "one  of  the  family,  I'll 
be  bound — unless  the  whole  thing  is  a  hoax.     By  the 
way,  who  else  is  there  in  the  immediate  family?" 

"Only  a  brother,  Dana  Phelps,  younger  and  some- 
what inclined  to  wildness,  I  believe.  At  least,  his  fa- 
ther did  not  trust  him  with  a  large  inheritance,  but 
left  most  of  his  money  in  trust.  But  before  we  go 
any  further,  read  that." 

Andrews  pulled  from  the  papers  a  newspaper  cut- 
ting on  which  he  had  drawn  a  circle  about  the  follow- 
ing item.  As  we  read,  he  eyed  us  sharply. 

PHELPS  TOMB  DESECRATED 

Last  night,  John  Shaughnessy,  a  night  watchman  employed  by 
the  town  of  Woodbine,  while  on  his  rounds,  was  attracted  by 
noises  as  of  a  violent  struggle  near  the  back  road  in  the  Wood- 
bine Cemetery,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  He  had  varied  his 
regular  rounds  because  of  the  recent  depredations  of  motor-car 
yeggmen  who  had  timed  him  in  pulling  off  several  jobs  lately. 

As  he  hurried  toward  the  large  mausoleum  of  the  Phelps  fam- 
ily, he  saw  two  figures  slink  away  in  opposite  directions  in  the 
darkness.  One  of  them,  he  asserts  positively,  seemed  to  be  a 
woman  in  black,  the  other  a  man  whom  he  could  not  see  clearly. 
They  readily  eluded  pursuit  in  the  shadows,  and  a  moment  later 
he  heard  the  whir  of  a  high-powered  car,  apparently  bearing  them 
away. 

316 


The  Ghouls  317 

At  the  tomb  there  was  every  evidence  of  a  struggle.  Things 
had  been  thrown  about ;  the  casket  had  been  broken  open,  but 
the  body  of  Montague  Phelps,  Jr.,  which  had  been  interred  there 
about  ten  days  ago,  was  not  touched  or  mutilated. 

It  was  a  shocking  and  extraordinary  violation.  Shaughnessy 
believes  that  some  personal  jewels  may  have  been  buried  with 
Phelps  and  that  the  thieves  were  after  them,  that  they  fought 
over  the  loot,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  fight  were  scared  away. 

The  vault  is  of  peculiar  construction,  a  costly  tomb  in  which 
repose  the  bodies  of  the  late  Montague  Phelps,  Sr.,  of  his  wife,  and 
now  of  his  eldest  son.  The  raid  had  evidently  been  carefully 
planned  to  coincide  with  a  time  when  Shaughnessy  would  ordi- 
narily have  been  on  the  other  side  of  the  town.  The  entrance  to 
the  tomb  had  been  barred,  but  during  the  commotion  the  ghouls 
were  surprised  and  managed  to  escape  without  accomplishing 
their  object  and  leaving  no  trace. 

Mrs.  Phelps,  when  informed  of  the  vandalism,  was  shocked, 
and  has  been  in  a  very  nervous  state  since  the  tomb  was  forced 
open.  The  local  authorities  seem  extremely  anxious  that  every 
precaution  should  be  taken  to  prevent  a  repetition  of  the  ghoul- 
ish visit  to  the  tomb,  but  as  yet  the  Phelps  family  has  taken  no 
steps. 

"Are  you  aware  of  any  scandal,  any  skeleton  in  the 
closet  in  the  family?"  asked  Craig,  looking  up. 

"No — not  yet,"  considered  Andrews.  "As  soon  as 
I  heard  of  the  vandalism,  I  began  to  wonder  what 
could  have  happened  in  the  Phelps  tomb,  as  far  as 
our  company's  interests  were  concerned.  You  see, 
that  was  yesterday.  To-day  this  letter  came  along," 
he  added,  laying  down  a  second  very  dirty  and  wrin- 
kled note  beside  the  first.  It  was  quite  patently 
written  by  a  different  person  from  the  first;  its 
purport  was  different,  indeed  quite  the  opposite 
of  the  other.  "It  was  sent  to  Mrs.  Phelps,"  ex- 
plained Andrews,  "and  she  gave  it  out  herself  to  the 
police." 


318  The  Dream  Doctor 

Do  not  show  this  to  the  police.  Unless  you  leave  $5000  in  gold 
In  the  old  stump  in  the  swamp  across  from  the  cemetery,  you  will 
have  reason  to  regret  it  J<  you  respect  the  memory  of  the  dead, 

do  this,  and  do  it  quietly. 

BLACK  HAND. 

"Well,"  I  ejaculated,  "that's  cool.  What  threat 
could  be  used  to  back  this  demand  on  the  Phelpses?" 

"Here's  the  situation,"  resumed  Andrews,  puffing 
violently  on  his  inevitable  cigar  and  toying  with  the 
letters  and  clippings.  "We  have  already  held  up 
payment  of  the  half -million  dollars  of  insurance  to 
the  widow  as  long  as  we  can  consistently  do  so.  But 
we  must  pay  soon,  scandal  or  not,  unless  we  can  get 
something  more  than  mere  conjecture." 

"You  are  already  holding  it  up?"  queried  Craig. 

"Yes.  You  see,  we  investigate  thoroughly  every 
suspicious  death.  In  most  cases,  no  body  is  found. 
This  case  is  different  in  that  respect.  There  is  a  body> 
and  it  is  the  body  of  the  insured,  apparently.  But  a 
death  like  this,  involving  the  least  mystery,  receives 
careful  examination,  especially  if,  as  in  this  case,  it 
has  recently  been  covered  by  heavy  policies.  My 
work  has  often  served  to  reverse  the  decision  of  doc- 
tors and  coroners'  juries. 

"An  insurance  detective,  as  you  can  readily  appre- 
ciate, Kennedy,  soon  comes  to  recognise  the  character- 
istics in  the  crimes  with  which  he  deals.  For  exam- 
ple, writing  of  the  insurance  plotted  for  rarely  pre- 
cedes the  conspiracy  to  defraud.  That  is,  I  know  of 
few  cases  in  which  a  policy  originally  taken  out  in 
good  faith  has  subsequently  become  the  means  of  a 
swindle. 

"In  outright-murder  cases,  the  assassin  induces  the 


The  Ghouls  319 

victim  to  take  out  insurance  in  his  favour.  In  sui- 
cide cases,  the  insured  does  so  himself.  Just  after 
his  return  home,  young  Phelps,  who  carried  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars  already,  applied  for  and  was  granted 
one  of  the  largest  policies  we  have  ever  written — half 
a  million." 

"Was  it  incontestible  without  the  suicide  clause?" 
asked  Kennedy. 

"Yes,"  replied  Andrews,  "and  suicide  is  the  first 
and  easiest  theory.  Why,  you  have  no  idea  how  com- 
mon the  crime  of  suicide  for  the  sake  of  the  life  in- 
surance is  becoming.  Nowadays,  we  insurance  men 
almost  believe  that  every  one  who  contemplates  end- 
ing his  existence  takes  out  a  policy  so  as  to  make  his 
life,  which  is  useless  to  him,  a  benefit,  at  least,  to  some 
one — and  a  nightmare  to  the  insurance  detective." 

"I  know,"  I  cut  in,  for  I  recalled  having  been  rather 
interested  in  the  Phelps  case  at  the  time,  "but  I 
thought  the  doctors  said  finally  that  death  was  due  to 
heart  failure." 

"Doctor  Forden  who  signed  the  papers  said  so," 
corrected  Andrews.  "Heart  failure — what  does  that 
mean?  As  well  say  breath  failure,  or  nerve  failure. 
I'll  tell  you  what  kind  of  failure  I  think  it  was.  It 
was  money  failure.  Hard  times  and  poor  investments 
struck  Phelps  before  he  really  knew  how  to  handle 
his  small  fortune.  It  called  him  home  and — pouf ! — 
he  is  off — to  leave  to  his  family  a  cool  half-million  by 
his  death.  But  did  he  do  it  himself  or  did  some  one 
else  do  it?  That's  the  question." 

"What  is  your  theory,"  inquired  Kennedy  absently, 
"assuming  there  is  no  scandal  hidden  in  the  life  of 

21 


320  The  Dream  Doctor 

Phelps  before  or  after  lie  married  the  Russian  dan- 
cer?" 

"I  don't  know,  Kennedy,"  confessed  Andrews.  "I 
have  had  so  many  theories  and  have  changed  them  so 
rapidly  that  all  I  lay  claim  to  believing,  outside  of  the 
bald  facts  that  I  have  stated,  is  that  there  must  have 
been  some  poison.  I  rather  sense  it,  feel  that  there  is 
no  doubt  of  it,  in  fact.  That  is  why  I  have  come  to 
you.  I  want  you  to  clear  it  up,  one  way  or  another. 
The  company  has  no  interest  except  in  getting  at  the 
truth." 

"The  body  is  really  there?"  asked  Kennedy.  "You 
saw  it?" 

"It  was  there  no  later  than  this  afternoon,  and  in 
an  almost  perfect  state  of  preservation,  too." 

Kennedy  seemed  to  be  looking  at  and  through  An- 
drews as  if  he  would  hypnotise  the  truth  out  of  him. 
"Let  me  see,"  he  said  quickly.  "It  is  not  very  late 
now.  Can  we  visit  the  mausoleum  to-night?" 

"Easily.  My  car  is  down-stairs.  Woodbine  is  not 
far,  and  you'll  find  it  a  very  attractive  suburb,  aside 
from  this  mystery." 

Andrews  lost  no  time  in  getting  us  out  to  Wood- 
bine, and  on  the  fringe  of  the  little  town,  one  of  the 
wealthiest  around  the  city,  he  deposited  us  at  the  least 
likely  place  of  all,  the  cemetery.  A  visit  to  a  ceme- 
tery is  none  too  enjoyable  even  on  a  bright  day.  In 
the  early  night  it  is  positively  uncanny.  What  was 
gruesome  in  the  daylight  became  doubly  so  under  the 
shroud  of  darkness. 

We  made  our  way  into  the  grounds  through  a  gate, 
and  I,  at  least,  even  with  all  the  enlightenment  of 


The  Ghouls  321 

modern  science,  could  not  restrain  a  weird  and  creepy 
sensation. 

"Here  is  the  Phelps  tomb,"  directed  Andrews,  paus- 
ing beside  a  marble  structure  of  Grecian  lines  and 
pulling  out  a  duplicate  key  of  a  new  lock  which  had 
been  placed  on  the  heavy  door  of  grated  iron.  As  we 
entered,  it  was  with  a  shudder  at  the  damp  odour  of 
decay.  Kennedy  had  brought  his  little  electric  bull's- 
eye,  and,  as  he  flashed  it  about,  we  could  see  at  a 
glance  that  the  reports  had  not  been  exaggerated. 
Everything  showed  marks  of  a  struggle.  Some  of 
the  ornaments  had  been  broken,  and  the  coffin  itself 
had  been  forced  open. 

"I  have  had  things  kept  just  as  we  found  them,"  ex- 
plained Andrews. 

Kennedy  peered  into  the  broken  coffin  long  and  at- 
tentively. With  a  little  effort  I,  too,  followed  the 
course  of  the  circle  of  light.  The  body  was,  as  An- 
drews had  said,  in  an  excellent,  indeed  a  perfect, 
state  of  preservation.  There  were,  strange  to  say, 
no  marks  of  decay. 

"Strange,  very  strange,"  muttered  Kennedy  to  him- 
self. 

"Could  it  have  been  some  medical  students,  body- 
snatchers?"  I  asked  musingly.  "Or  was  it  simply  a 
piece  of  vandalism?  I  wonder  if  there  could  have 
been  any  jewels  buried  with  him,  as  Shaughnessy 
said?  That  would  make  the  motive  plain  robbery." 

"There  were  no  jewels,"  said  Andrews,  his  mind 
not  on  the  first  part  of  my  question,  but  watching 
Kennedy  intently. 

Craig  had  dropped  on  his  knees  on  the  damp,  mil% 


322  The  Dream  Doctor 

dewed  floor,  and  bringing  his  bull's-eye  close  to  the 
stones,  was  examining  some  spots  here  and  there. 

"There  could  not  have  been  any  substitution?"  I 
whispered,  with  my  mind  still  on  the  broken  coffin. 
"That  would  cover  up  the  evidence  of  a  poisoning, 
you  know." 

"No,"  replied  Andrews  positively,  "although  bod- 
ies can  be  obtained  cheaply  enough  from  a  morgue, 
ostensibly  for  medical  purposes.  No,  that  is  Phelps, 
all  right." 

"Well,  then,"  I  persisted,  "body-snatchers,  medical 
students?" 

"Not  likely,  for  the  same  reason,"  he  rejected. 

We  bent  over  closer  to  watch  Kennedy.  Appar- 
ently he  had  found  a  number  of  round,  flat  spots  with 
little  spatters  beside  them.  He  was  carefully  trying 
to  scrape  them  up  with  as  little  of  the  surrounding 
mould  as  possible. 

Suddenly,  without  warning,  there  was  a  noise  out- 
side, as  if  a  person  were  moving  through  the  under- 
brush. It  was  fearsome  in  its  suddenness.  WTas  it 
human  or  wraith?  Kennedy  darted  to  the  door  in 
time  to  see  a  shadow  glide  silently  away,  lost  in  the 
darkness  of  the  fine  old  willows.  Some  one  had  ap- 
proached the  mausoleum  for  a  second  time,  not  know- 
ing we  were  there,  and  had  escaped.  Down  the  road 
we  could  hear  the  purr  of  an  almost  silent  motor. 

"Somebody  is  trying  to  get  in  to  conceal  something 
here,"  muttered  Kennedy,  stifling  his  disappointment 
at  not  getting  a  closer  view  of  the  intruder. 

"Then  it  was  not  a  suicide,"  I  exclaimed.  "It  was 
a  murder !" 


The  Ghouls  323 

Craig  shook  his  nead  sententiously.  Evidently  he 
was  not  prepared  yet  to  talk. 

With  another  look  at  the  body  in  the  broken  casket 
he  remarked:  "To-morrow  I  want  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Phelps  and  Doctor  Forden,  and,  if  it  is  possible  to 
find  him,  Dana  Phelps.  Meanwhile,  Andrews,  if  you 
and  Walter  will  stand  guard  here,  there  is  an  appa- 
ratus which  I  should  like  to  get  from  my  laboratory 
and  set  up  here  before  it  is  too  late." 

It  was  far  past  the  witching  hour  of  midnight, 
when  graveyards  proverbially  yawn,  before  Craig  re- 
turned in  the  car.  Nothing  had  happened  in  the 
meantime  except  those  usual  eery  noises  that  one  may 
hear  in  the  country  at  night  anywhere.  Our  visitor 
of  the  early  evening  seemed  to  have  been  scared  away 
for  good. 

Inside  the  mausoleum,  Kennedy  set  up  a  pecu- 
liar machine  which  he  attached  to  the  electric-light 
circuit  in  the  street  by  a  long  wire  which  he  ran 
loosely  over  the  ground.  Part  of  the  apparatus  con- 
sisted of  an  elongated  box  lined  with  lead,  to  which 
were  several  other  attachments,  the  nature  of  which 
I  did  not  understand,  and  a  crank-handle. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Andrews  curiously,  as  Craig 
set  up  a  screen  between  the  apparatus  and  the  body. 

"This  is  a  calcium-tungsten  screen,"  remarked  Ken- 
nedy, adjusting  now  what  I  know  to  be  a  Crookes' 
tube  on  the  other  side  of  the  body  itself,  so  that  the  or- 
der was:  the  tube,  the  body,  the  screen,  and  the  ob- 
long box.  Without  a  further  word  we  continued  to 
watch  him. 

At  last,  the  apparatus  adjusted  apparently  to  his 


324  The  Dream  Doctor 

satisfaction,  he  brought  out  a  jar  of  thick  white  liquid 
and  a  bottle  of  powder. 

"Buttermilk  and  a  couple  of  ounces  of  bismuth  sub- 
carbonate/'  he  remarked,  as  he  mixed  some  in  a  glass, 
and  with  a  pump  forced  it  down  the  throat  of  the 
body,  now  lying  so  that  the  abdomen  was  almost  flat 
against  the  screen. 

He  turned  a  switch  and  the  peculiar  bluish  efful- 
gence, which  always  appears  wThen  a  Crookes'  tube  is 
being  used,  burst  forth,  accompanied  by  the  droning 
of  his  induction-coil  and  the  welcome  smell  of  ozone 
produced  by  the  electrical  discharge  in  the  almost 
fetid  air  of  the  tomb.  Meanwhile,  he  was  gradually 
turning  the  handle  of  the  crank  attached  to  the  oblong 
box.  He  seemed  so  engrossed  in  the  delicateness  of 
the  operation  that  we  did  not  question  him,  in  fact 
did  not  move.  For  Andrews,  at  least,  it  was  enough 
to  know  that  he  had  succeeded  in  enlisting  Ken- 
nedy's services. 

Well  along  toward  morning  it  was  before  Kennedy 
had  concluded  his  tests,  whatever  they  were,  and  had 
packed  away  his  paraphernalia. 

"I'm  afraid  it  will  take  me  two  or  three  days  to 
get  at  this  evidence,  even  now,"  he  remarked,  impa- 
tient at  even  the  limitations  science  put  on  his  activ- 
ity. We  had  started  back  for  a  quick  run  to  the  city 
and  rest.  "But,  anyhow,  it  will  give  us  a  chance  to 
do  some  investigating  along  other  lines." 

Early  the  next  day,  in  spite  of  the  late  session  of 
the  night  before,  Kennedy  started  me  with  him  on  a 
second  visit  to  Woodbine.  This  time  he  was  armed 


The  Ghouls  325 

with  a  letter  of  introduction  from  Andrews  to  Mrs. 
Phelps. 

She  proved  to  be  a  young  woman  of  most  extraor- 
dinary grace  and  beauty,  with  a  superb  carriage  such 
as  only  years  of  closest  training  under  the  best  dan- 
cers of  the  world  could  give.  There  was  a  peculiar 
velvety  softness  about  her  flesh  and  skin,  a  witching 
stoop  to  her  shoulders  that  was  decidedly  continental, 
and  in  her  deep,  soulful  eyes  a  half-wistful  look  that 
was  most  alluring.  In  fact,  she  was  as  attractive  a 
widow  as  the  best  Fifth  Avenue  dealers  in  mourning 
goods  could  have  produced. 

I  knew  that  'Ginette  Phelps  had  been,  both  as  dan- 
cer and  wife,  always  the  centre  of  a  group  of  actors, 
artists,  and  men  of  letters  as  well  as  of  the  world  and 
affairs.  The  Phelpses  had  lived  well,  although  they 
were  not  extremely  wealthy,  as  fortunes  go.  When 
the  blow  fell,  I  could  well  fancy  that  the  loss  of  his 
money  had  been  most  serious  to  young  Montague,  who 
had  showered  everything  as  lavishly  as  he  was  able 
upon  his  captivating  bride. 

Mrs.  Phelps  did  not  seem  to  be  overjoyed  at  receiv- 
ing us,  yet  made  no  open  effort  to  refuse. 

"How  long  ago  did  the  coma  first  show  itself?" 
asked  Kennedy,  after  our  introductions  were  com- 
pleted. "Was  your  husband  a  man  of  neurotic  ten- 
dency, as  far  as  you  could  judge?" 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  say  when  it  began,"  she  answered, 
in  a  voice  that  was  soft  and  musical  and  under  per- 
fect control.  "The  doctor  would  know  that  better. 
No,  he  was  not  neurotic,  I  think." 


326  The  Dream  Doctor 

"Did  you  ever  see  Mr.  Phelps  take  any  drugs—- 
not  habitually,  but  just  before  this  sleep  came 
on?" 

Kennedy  was  seeking  his  information  in  a  manner 
and  tone  that  would  cause  as  little  offence  as  possible. 
"Oh,  no,"  she  hastened.  "No,  never — absolutely." 

"You  called  in  Dr.  Forden  the  last  night?" 

"Yes,  he  had  been  Montague's  physician  many  years 
ago,  you  know." 

"I  see,"  remarked  Kennedy,  who  was  thrusting 
about  aimlessly  to  get  her  off  her  guard.  "By  the 
way,  you  know  there  is  a  great  deal  of  gossip  about 
the  almost  perfect  state  of  preservation  of  the  body, 
Mrs.  Phelps.  I  see  it  was  not  embalmed." 

She  bit  her  lip  and  looked  at  Kennedy  sharply. 

"Why,  why  do  you  and  Mr.  Andrews  worry  me? 
Can't  you  see  Doctor  Forden?" 

In  her  annoyance  I  fancied  that  there  was  a  sur- 
prising lack  of  sorrow.  She  seemed  preoccupied.  I 
could  not  escape  the  feeling  that  she  was  putting  some 
obstacle  in  our  way,  or  that  from  the  day  of  the  dis- 
covery of  the  vandalism,  some  one  had  been  making 
an  effort  to  keep  the  real  facts  concealed.  Was  she 
shielding  some  one  ?  It  flashed  over  me  that  perhaps, 
after  all,  she  had  submitted  to  the  blackmail  and  had 
buried  the  money  at  the  appointed  place.  There 
seemed  to  be  little  use  in  pursuing  the  inquiry,  so  we 
excused  ourselves,  much,  I  thought,  to  her  relief. 

We  found  Doctor  Forden,  who  lived  on  the  same 
street  as  the  Phelpses  several  squares  away,  most  for- 
tunately at  home.  Forden  was  an  extremely  inter- 
esting man,  as  is,  indeed,  the  rule  with  physicians, 


The  Ghouls  327 

I  could  not  but  fancy,  however,  that  his  hearty  as- 
surance that  he  would  be  glad  to  talk  freely  on  the 
case  was  somewhat  forced. 

"You  were  sent  for  by  Mrs.  Phelps,  that  last  night, 
I  believe,  while  Phelps  was  still  alive?"  asked  Ken- 
nedy. 

"Yes.  During  the  day  it  had  been  impossible  to 
arouse  him,  and  that  night,  when  Mrs.  Phelps  and  the 
nurse  found  him  sinking  even  deeper  into  the  coma- 
tose state,  I  was  summoned  again.  He  was  beyond 
hope  then.  I  did  everything  I  could,  but  he  died  a 
few  moments  after  I  arrived." 

"Did  you  try  artificial  respiration?"  asked  Ken- 
nedy. 

"X-no,"  replied  Forden.  "I  telephoned  here  for 
my  respirator,  but  by  the  time  it  arrived  at  the  house 
it  was  too  late.  Nothing  had  been  omitted  while  he 
was  still  struggling  with  the  spark  of  life.  When 
that  went  out  what  was  the  use?" 

"You  were  his  personal  physician?" 

"Yes." 

"Had  you  ever  noticed  that  he  took  any  drug?" 

Doctor  Forden  shot  a  quick  glance  at  Kennedy, 
"Of  course  not.  He  was  not  a  drug  fiend." 

"I  didn't  mean  that  he  was  addicted  to  any  drug. 
But  had  he  taken  anything  lately,  either  of  his  own 
volition  or  with  the  advice  or  knowledge  of  any  one 
else?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"There's  another  strange  thing  I  wish  to  ask  your 
opinion  about,"  pursued  Kennedy,  not  to  be  rebuffed. 
"I  have  seen  his  body.  It  is  in  an  excellent  state  of 


328  The  Dream  Doctor 

preservation,  almost  lifelike.  And  yet  I  understand, 
or  at  least  it  seems,  that  it  was  not  embalmed." 

"You'll  have  to  ask  the  undertaker  about  that,"  an- 
swered the  doctor  brusquely. 

It  was  evident  that  he  was  getting  more  and  more 
constrained  in  his  answers.  Kennedy  did  not  seem 
to  mind  it,  but  to  me  it  seemed  that  he  must  be  hiding 
something.  Was  there  some  secret  which  medical 
ethics  kept  locked  in  his  breast?  Kennedy  had  risen 
and  excused  himself. 

The  interviews  had  not  resulted  in  much,  I  felt,  yet 
Kennedy  did  not  seem  to  care.  Back  in  the  city  again, 
he  buried  himself  in  his  laboratory  for  the  rest  of  the 
day,  most  of  the  time  in  his  dark  room,  where  he  was 
developing  photographic  plates  or  films,  I  did  not 
know  which. 

During  the  afternoon  Andrews  dropped  in  for  a 
few  moments  to  report  that  he  had  nothing  to  add  to 
what  had  already  developed.  He  was  not  much  im- 
pressed by  the  interviews. 

"There's  just  one  thing  I  want  to  speak  about, 
though,"  he  said  at  length,  unburdening  his  mind. 
"That  tomb  and  the  swamp,  too,  ought  to  be  watched. 
Last  night  showed  me  that  there  seems  to  be  a  regu- 
lar nocturnal  visitor  and  that  we  cannot  depend  on 
that  town  night  watchman  to  scare  him  off.  Yet  if 
we  watch  up  there,  he  will  be  warned  and  will  lie  low. 
How  can  we  watch  both  places  at  once  and  yet  re- 
main hidden?" 

Kennedy  nodded  approval  of  the  suggestion.  "I'll 
fix  that,"  he  replied,  anxious  to  return  to  his  photo- 
graphic labours.  "Meet  me,  both  of  you,  on  the  road 


The  Ghouls  329 

from  the  station  at  Woodbine,  just  as  it  is  getting 
dusk."  Without  another  word  he  disappeared  into 
the  dark  room. 

We  met  him  that  night  as  he  had  requested.  He 
had  come  up  to  Woodbine  in  the  baggage-car  of  the 
train  with  a  powerful  dog,  for  all  the  world  like  a 
huge,  grey  wolf. 

"Down,  Schaef,"  he  ordered,  as  the  dog  began  to 
show  an  uncanny  interest  in  me.  "Let  me  introduce 
my  new  dog-detective,"  he  chuckled.  "She  has  a  won- 
derful record  as  a  police-dog." 

We  were  making  our  way  now  through  the  thicken- 
ing shadows  of  the  town  to  the  outskirts.  "She's  a 
German  sheep-dog,  a  Schaferhund,"  he  explained. 
"For  my  part,  it  is  the  English  bloodhound  in  the 
open  country  and  the  sheep-dog  in  the  city  and  the 
suburbs." 

Schaef  seemed  to  have  many  of  the  characteristics 
of  the  wild,  prehistoric  animal,  among  them  the  full, 
upright  ears  of  the  wild  dog  which  are  such  a  great 
help  to  it.  She  was  a  fine,  alert,  upstanding  dog, 
hardy,  fierce,  and  literally  untiring,  of  a  tawny  light 
brown  like  a  lioness,  about  the  same  size  and  some- 
what of  the  type  of  the  smooth-coated  collie,  broad 
of  chest  and  with  a  full  brush  of  tail. 

Untamed  though  she  seemed,  she  was  perfectly 
under  Kennedy's  control,  and  rendered  him  absolute 
and  unreasoning  obedience. 

At  the  cemetery  we  established  a  strict  watch  about 
the  Phelps  mausoleum  and  the  swamp  which  lay  across 
the  road,  not  a  difficult  thing  to  do  as  far  as  con- 
cealment went,  owing  to  the  foliage.  Still,  for  the 


330  The  Dream  Doctor 

same  reason,  it  was  hard  to  cover  the  whole  ground. 
In  the  shadow  of  a  thicket  we  waited.  Now  and  then 
we  could  hear  Schaef  scouting  about  in  the  under- 
brush, crouching  and  hiding,  watching  and  guarding. 

As  the  hours  of  waiting  in  the  heavily  laden  night 
air  wore  on,  I  wondered  whether  our  vigil  in  this 
weird  place  would  be  rewarded.  The  soughing  of  the 
night  wind  in  the  evergreens,  mournful  at  best,  was 
doubly  so  now.  Hour  after  hour  we  waited  patiently. 

At  last  there  was  a  slight  noise  from  the  direction 
opposite  the  mausoleum  and  toward  the  swamp  next 
to  the  cemetery. 

Kennedy  reached  out  and  drew  us  back  into  the 
shadow  deeper.  "Some  one  is  prowling  about,  ap- 
proaching the  mausoleum  on  that  side,  I  think,"  he 
whispered. 

Instantly  there  recurred  to  me  the  thought  I  had 
had  earlier  in  the  day  that  perhaps,  after  all,  the  five 
thousand  dollars  of  hush  money,  for  whatever  pur- 
pose it  might  be  extorted,  had  been  buried  in  the 
swamp  by  Mrs.  Phelps  in  her  anxiety.  Had  that  been 
what  she  was  concealing?  Perhaps  the  blackmailer 
had  come  to  reconnoitre,  and,  if  the  money  was  there, 
to  take  it  away. 

Schaef,  who  had  been  near  us,  was  sniffing  eagerly. 
From  our  hiding-place  we  could  just  see  her.  She 
had  heard  the  sounds,  too,  even  before  we  had,  and 
for  an  instant  stood  with  every  muscle  tense. 

Then,  like  an  arrow,  she  darted  into  the  underbrush. 
A.n  instant  later,  the  sharp  crack  of  a  revolver  rang 
out.  Schaef  kept  right  on,  never  stopping  a  second, 
except,  perhaps,  for  surprise. 


The  Ghouls  331 

"Crack!"  almost  in  her  face  came  a  second  spit  of 
fire  in  the  darkness,  and  a  bullet  crashed  through  the 
leaves  and  buried  itself  in  a  tree  with  a  ping.  The 
intruder's  marksmanship  was  poor,  but  the  dog  paid 
no  attention  to  it. 

"One  of  the  few  animals  that  show  no  fear  of  gun- 
fire," muttered  Kennedy,  in  undisguised  admiration. 

"G-r-r-r"  we  heard  from  the  police-dog. 

"She  has  made  a  leap  at  the  hand  that  holds  the 
gun,"  cried  Kennedy,  now  rising  and  moving  rapidly 
in  the  same  direction.  "She  has  been  taught  that  a 
man  once  badly  bitten  in  the  hand  is  nearly  out  of 
the  fight." 

We  followed,  too.  As  we  approached  we  were  just 
in  time  to  see  Schaef  running  in  and  out  between  the 
legs  of  a  man  who  had  heard  us  approach  and  was 
hastily  making  tracks  for  the  road.  As  he  tripped, 
she  lunged  for  his  back. 

Kennedy  blew  shrilly  on  a  police  whistle.  Reluc- 
tantly, Schaef  let  go.  One  could  see  that  with  all  her 
canine  instinct  she  wanted  to  "get"  that  man.  Her 
jaws  were  open,  as,  with  longing  eyes,  she  stood  over 
the  prostrate  form  in  the  grass.  The  whistle  was  a 
signal,  and  she  had  been  taught  to  obey  unquestion- 


"Don't  move  until  we  get  to  you,  or  you  are  a  dead 
man,"  shouted  Kennedy,  pulling  an  automatic  as  he 
ran.  "Are  you  hurt?" 

There  was  no  answer,  but  as  we  approached,  the 
man  moved,  ever  so  little,  through  curiosity  to  see 
his  pursuers. 

Schaef  shot  forward.    Again  the  whistle  sounded 


332  The  Dream  Doctor 

and  she  dropped  back.  We  bent  over  to  seize  him 
as  Kennedy  secured  the  dog. 

"She's  a  devil,"  ground  out  the  prone  figure  on  the 
grass. 

"Dana  Phelps!"  exclaimed  Andrews,  as  the  man 
turned  his  face  toward  us.  "What  are  you  doing, 
mixed  up  in  this?" 

Suddenly  there  was  a  movement  in  the  rear,  toward 
the  mausoleum  itself.  We  turned,  but  it  was  too  late. 
Two  dark  figures  slunk  through  the  gloom,  bearing 
something  between  them.  Kennedy  slipped  the  leash 
off  Schaef  and  she  shot  out  like  a  unchained  bolt  of 
lightning. 

There  was  the  whir  of  a  high-powered  machine 
which  must  have  sneaked  up  with  the  muffler  on  dur- 
ing the  excitement.  They  had  taken  a  desperate 
chance  and  had  succeeded.  They  were  gone ! 


XXII 
The  X-Ray  "Movies" 

STILL  holding  Dana  Phelps  between  us,  we  hur- 
ried toward  the  tomb  and  entered.  While  our 
attention  had  been  diverted  in  the  direction  of  the 
swamp,  the  body  of  Montague  Phelps  had  been  stolen. 

Dana  Phelps  was  still  deliberately  brushing  off  his 
clothes.  Had  he  been  in  league  with  them,  executing 
a  flank  movement  to  divert  our  attention?  Or  had  it 
all  been  pure  chance? 

"Well?"  demanded  Andrews. 

"Well?"  replied  Dana. 

Kennedy  said  nothing,  and  I  felt  that,  with  our  cap- 
ture, the  mystery  seemed  to  have  deepened  rather  than 
cleared. 

As  Andrews  and  Phelps  faced  each  other,  I  noticed 
that  the  latter  was  now  and  then  endeavouring  to 
cover  his  wrist,  where  the  dog  had  torn  his  coat  sleeve. 

"Are  you  hurt  badly?"  inquired  Kennedy. 

Dana  said  nothing,  but  backed  away.  Kennedy  ad- 
vanced, insisting  on  looking  at  the  wounds.  As  he 
looked  he  disclosed  a  semicircle  of  marks. 

"Not  a  dog  bite,"  he  whispered,  turning  to  me  and 
fumbling  in  his  pocket.  "Besides,  those  marks  are  a 
couple  of  days  old.  They  have  scabs  on  them." 

He  had  pulled  out  a  pencil  and  a  piece  of  paper,  and, 
unknown  to  Phelps,  was  writing  in  the  darkness.  I 

333 


334  The  Dream  Doctor 

leaned  over.  Near  the  point,  in  the  tube  through' 
which  the  point  for  writing  was,  protruded  a  small 
accumulator  and  tiny  electric  lamp  which  threw  a  lit- 
tle disc  of  light,  so  small  that  it  could  be  hidden  by 
the  hand,  yet  quite  sufficient  to  guide  Craig  in  moving 
the  point  of  his  pencil  for  the  proper  formation  of 
whatever  he  was  recording  on  the  surface  of  the  pa- 
per. 

"An  electric-light  pencil,"  he  remarked  laconically, 
in  an  undertone. 

"Who  were  the  others?"  demanded  Andrews  of 
Dana. 

There  was  a  pause  as  though  he  were  debating 
whether  or  not  to  answer  at  all.  "I  don't  know,"  he 
said  at  length.  "I  wish  I  did." 

"You  don't  know?"  queried  Andrews,  with  incre- 
dulity. 

"No.  I  say  I  wish  I  did  know.  You  and  your  dog 
interrupted  me  just  as  I  was  about  to  find  out,  too." 

We  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement.  Andrews 
was  frankly  skeptical  of  the  coolness  of  the  young 
man.  Kennedy  said  nothing  for  some  moments. 

"I  see  you  don't  want  to  talk,"  he  put  in  shortly. 

"Nothing  to  talk  about,"  grunted  Dana,  in  disgust. 

"Then  why  are  you  here?" 

"Nothing  but  conjecture.  No  facts,  only  suspi- 
cions," said  Dana,  half  to  himself. 

"You  expect  us  to  believe  that?"  insinuated  An- 
drews. 

"I  can't  help  what  you  believe.     That  is  the  fact." 

"And  you  were  not  with  them?" 

"No." 


The  X-Ray  "Movies"  335 

"You'll  be  within  call,  if  we  let  you  go  now,  any 
time  that  we  want  you?"  interrupted  Kennedy,  much 
to  the  surprise  of  Andrews. 

"I  shall  stay  in  Woodbine  as  long  as  there  is  any 
hope  of  clearing  up  this  case.  If  you  want  me,  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  have  to  stay  anyhow,  even  if  there  is  a 
clue  somewhere  else." 

"I'll  take  your  word  for  it,"  offered  Kennedy. 

"I'll  give  it." 

I  must  say  that  I  rather  liked  the  young  chap,  al- 
though I  could  make  nothing  out  of  him. 

As  Dana  Phelps  disappeared  down  the  road,  An- 
drews turned  to  Kennedy.  "What  did  you  do  that 
for?"  he  asked,  half  critically. 

"Because  we  can  watch  him,  anyway,"  answered 
Craig,  with  a  significant  glance  at  the  now  empty 
casket.  "Have  Mm  shadowed,  Andrews.  It  may  lead 
to  something  and  it  may  not.  But  in  any  case  don't 
let  him  get  out  of  reach." 

"Here  we  are  in  a  worse  mystery  than  ever," 
grumbled  Andrews.  "We  have  caught  a  prisoner,  but 
the  body  is  gone,  and  we  can't  even  show  that  he  was 
an  accomplice." 

"What  were  you  writing?"  I  asked  Craig,  endeav- 
ouring to  change  the  subject  to  one  more  promis- 
ing. 

"Just  copying  the  peculiar  shape  of  those  marks  on 
Phelps'  arm.  Perhaps  we  can  improve  on  the  finger- 
print method  of  identification.  Those  were  the  marks 
of  human  teeth." 

He  was  glancing  casually  at  his  sketch  as  he  dis- 
played it  to  us.  I  wondered  whether  he  really  ex- 

22 


336  The  Dream  Doctor 

pected  to  obtain  proof  of  the  identity  of  at  least  one 
of  the  ghouls  by  the  tooth-marks. 

"It  shows  eight  teeth,  one  of  them  decayed,"  he 
remarked.  "By  the  way,  there's  no  use  watching  here 
any  longer.  I  have  some  more  work  to  do  in  the  labo- 
ratory which  will  keep  me  another  day.  To-morrow 
night  I  shall  be  ready.  Andrews,  in  the  mean  time  I 
leave  the  shadowing  of  Dana  to  you,  and  with  the  help 
of  Jameson  I  want  you  to  arrange  to  have  all  thobe 
connected  with  the  case  at  my  laboratory  to-morrow 
night  without  fail." 

Andrews  and  I  had  to  do  some  clever  scheming  to 
bring  pressure  to  bear  on  the  various  persons  inter- 
ested to  insure  their  attendance,  now  that  Craig  was 
ready  to  act.  Of  course  there  was  no  difficulty  in  get- 
ting Dana  Phelps.  Andrews's  shadows  reported  noth- 
ing in  his  actions  of  the  following  day  that  indicated 
anything.  Mrs.  Phelps  came  down  to  town  by  train 
and  Doctor  Forden  motored  in.  Andrews  even  took 
the  precaution  to  secure  Shaughnessy  and  the  trained 
nurse,  Miss  Tracy,  who  had  been  with  Montague 
Phelps  during  his  illness  but  had  not  contributed  any- 
thing  toward  untangling  the  case.  Andrews  and  my- 
self completed  the  little  audience. 

We  found  Kennedy  heating  a  large  mass  of  some 
composition  such  as  dentists  use  in  taking  impressions 
of  the  teeth. 

"I  shall  be  ready  in  a  moment,"  he  excused  himself, 
still  bending  over  his  Bunsen  flame.  "By  the  way, 
Mr.  Phelps,  if  you  will  permit  me." 

He  had  detached  a  wad  of  the  softened  material. 
Phelps,  taken  by  surprise,  allowed  him  to  make  an  im- 


The  X-Ray  "Movies"  387 

pression  of  his  teeth,  almost  before  he  realised  what 
Kennedy  was  doing.  The  precedent  set,  so  to  speak, 
Kennedy  approached  Doctor  Forden.  He  demurred, 
but  finally  consented.  Mrs.  Phelps  followed,  then  the 
nurse,  and  even  Shaughnessy. 

With  a  quick  glance  at  each  impression,  Kennedy 
laid  them  aside  to  harden. 

"I  am  ready  to  begin,"  he  remarked  at  length,  turn- 
ing to  a  peculiar  looking  instrument,  something  like 
three  telescopes  pointing  at  a  centre  in  which  was  a 
series  of  glass  prisms. 

"These  five  senses  of  ours  are  pretty  dull  detectives 
sometimes,"  Kennedy  began.  "But  I  find  that  when 
we  are  able  to  call  in  outside  aid  we  usually  find  that 
there  are  no  more  mysteries." 

He  placed  something  in  a  test-tube  in  line  before 
one  of  the  barrels  of  the  telescopes,  near  a  brilliant 
electric  light. 

"What  do  you  see,  Walter?"  he  asked,  indicating  an 
eyepiece. 

I  looked.  "A  series  of  lines,"  I  replied.  "What  is 
it?" 

"That,"  he  explained,  "is  a  spectroscope,  and  those 
are  the  lines  of  the  absorption  spectrum.  Each  of 
those  lines,  by  its  presence,  denotes  a  different  sub' 
stance.  Now,  on  the  pavement  of  the  Phelps  mauso- 
leum I  found,  you  will  recall,  some  roundish  spots.  1 
have  made  a  very  diluted  solution  of  them  which  is 
placed  in  this  tube. 

"The  applicability  of  the  spectroscope  to  the  dif- 
ferentiation of  various  substances  is  too  well  known 
to  need  explanation.  Its  value  lies  in  the  exact  nature 


338  The  Dream  Doctor 

of  the  evidence  furnished.  Even  the  very  dilute  solu- 
tion which  I  have  been  able  to  make  of  the  material 
scraped  from  these  spots  gives  characteristic  absorp- 
tion bands  between  the  D  and  E  lines,  as  they  are 
called.  Their  wave-lengths  are  between  5774  and 
5390.  It  is  such  a  distinct  absorption  spectrum  that 
it  is  possible  to  determine  with  certainty  that  the  fluid 
actually  contains  a  certain  substance,  even  though  the 
microscope  might  fail  to  give  sure  proof.  Blood — 
human  blood — that  was  what  those  stains  were." 

He  paused.  "The  spectra  of  the  blood  pigments," 
he  added,  "of  the  extremely  minute  quantities  of  blood 
and  the  decomposition  products  of  hemoglobin  in  the 
blood  are  here  infallibly  shown,  varying  very  distinctly 
with  the  chemical  changes  which  the  pigments  may 
undergo." 

Whose  blood  was  it?  I  asked  myself.  Was  it  of 
some  one  who  had  visited  the  tomb,  who  was  surprised 
there  or  surprised  some  one  else  there?  I  wras  hardly 
ready  for  Kennedy's  quick  remark. 

"There  were  two  kinds  of  blood  there.  One  was 
contained  in  the  spots  on  the  floor  all  about  the  mau- 
soleum. There  are  marks  on  the  arm  of  Dana  Phelps 
which  he  probably  might  say  were  made  by  the  teeth 
of  my  police-dog,  Schaef.  They  are  human  tooth- 
marks,  however.  He  was  bitten  by  some  one  in  a 
struggle.  It  was  his  blood  on  the  floor  of  the  mauso- 
leum. Whose  were  the  teeth?" 

Kennedy  fingered  the  now  set  impressions,  then  re- 
sumed: "Before  I  answer  that  question,  wThat  else 
does  the  spectroscope  show?  I  found  some  spots  near 
the  coffin,  which  has  been  broken  open  by  a  heavy  ob- 


The  X-Ray  "Movies"  339 

ject.  It  had  slipped  and  had  injured  the  body  of  Mon- 
tague Phelps.  From  the  injury  some  drops  had 
oozed.  My  spectroscope  tells  me  that  that,  too,  is 
blood.  The  blood  and  other  muscular  and  nervous 
fluids  of  the  body  had  remained  in  an  aqueous  condi- 
tion instead  of  becoming  pectous.  That  is  a  remarka- 
ble circumstance." 

It  flashed  over  me  what  Kennedy  had  been  driving 
at  in  his  inquiry  regarding  embalming.  If  the  poi- 
sons of  the  embalming  fluid  had  not  been  injected,  he 
had  now  clear  proof  regarding  anything  his  spectro- 
scope discovered. 

"I  had  expected  to  find  a  poison,  perhaps  an  alka- 
loid," he  continued  slowly,  as  he  outlined  his  discover- 
ies by  the  use  of  one  of  the  most  fascinating  branches 
of  modern  science,  spectroscopy.  "In  cases  of  poison- 
ing by  these  substances,  the  spectroscope  often  has 
obvious  advantages  over  chemical  methods,  for  mi- 
nute amounts  will  produce  a  well-defined  spectrum. 
The  spectroscope  'spots'  the  substance,  to  use  a  police 
idiom,  the  moment  the  case  is  turned  over  to  it. 
There  was  no  poison  there."  He  had  raised  his  voice 
to  emphasise  the  startling  revelation.  "Instead,  I 
found  an  extraordinary  amount  of  the  substance  and 
products  of  glycogen.  The  liver,  where  this  substance 
is  stored,  is  literally  surcharged  in  the  body  of 
Phelps." 

He  had  started  his  moving-picture  machine. 

"Here  I  have  one  of  the  latest  developments  in  the 
moving-picture  art,"  he  resumed,  "an  X-ray  moving 
picture,  a  feat  which  was  until  recently  visionary,  a 
science  now  in  its  infancy,  bearing  the  formidable 


340  The  Dream  Doctor 

names  of  biorontgenography,  or  kinematoradio- 
graphy." 

Kennedy  was  holding  his  little  audience  breathless 
as  he  proceeded.  I  fancied  I  could  see  Anginette 
Phelps  give  a  little  shudder  at  the  prospect  of  looking 
into  the  very  interior  of  a  human  body.  But  she  was 
pale  with  the  fascination  of  it.  Neither  Forden  nor 
the  nurse  looked  to  the  right  or  to  the  left.  Dana 
Phelps  was  open-eyed  with  wonder. 

"In  one  X-ray  photograph,  or  even  in  several,"  con- 
tinued Kennedy,  "it  is  difficult  to  discover  slight  mo- 
tions. Not  so  in  a  moving  picture.  For  instance, 
here  I  have  a  picture  which  will  show  you  a  living 
body  in  all  its  moving  details." 

On  the  screen  before  us  was  projected  a  huge  shad- 
owgraph of  a  chest  and  abdomen.  We  could  see  the 
vertebras  of  the  spinal  column,  the  ribs,  and  the  vari- 
ous organs. 

"It  is  difficult  to  get  a  series  of  photographs  directly 
from  a  fluorescent  screen,"  Kennedy  went  on.  "I 
overcome  the  difficulty  by  having  lenses  of  sufficient 
rapidity  to  photograph  even  faint  images  on  that 
screen.  It  is  better  than  the  so-called  serial  method, 
by  which  a  number  of  separate  X-ray  pictures  are 
taken  and  then  pieced  together  and  rephotographed 
to  make  the  film.  I  can  focus  the  X-rays  first  on  the 
screen  by  means  of  a  special  quartz  objective  which  I 
have  devised.  Then  I  take  the  pictures. 

"Here,  you  see,  are  the  lungs  in  slow  or  rapid  respi- 
ration. There  is  the  rhythmically  beating  heart,  dis- 
tinctly pulsating  in  perfect  outline.  There  is  the 
liver,  moving  up  and  down  with  the  diaphragm,  the 


The  X-Ray  "Movies"  341 

intestines,  and  the  stomach.  You  can  see  the  bones 
moving  with  the  limbs,  as  well  as  the  inner  visceral 
life.  All  that  is  hidden  to  the  eye  by  the  flesh  is  now 
made  visible  in  striking  manner." 

Never  have  I  seen  an  audience  at  the  "movies'*  so 
thrilled  as  we  were  now,  as  Kennedy  swayed  our  in- 
terest at  his  will.  I  had  been  dividing  my  attention 
between  Kennedy  and  the  extraordinary  beauty  of 
the  famous  Russian  dancer.  I  forgot  Anginette 
Phelps  entirely. 

Kennedy  placed  another  film  in  the  holder. 

"You  are  now  looking  into  the  body  of  Montague 
Phelps,"  he  announced  suddenly. 

We  leaned  forward  eagerly.  Mrs.  Phelps  gave  a 
half-suppressed  gasp.  What  was  the  secret  hidden 
in  it? 

There  was  the  stomach,  a  curved  sack  something 
like  a  bagpipe  or  a  badly  made  boot,  with  a  tiny  canal 
at  the  toe  connecting  it  with  the  small  intestine. 
There  were  the  heart  and  lungs. 

"I  have  rendered  the  stomach  visible,"  resumed  Ken- 
nedy, "made  it  'metallic,'  so  to  speak,  by  injecting  a 
solution  of  bismuth  in  buttermilk,  the  usual  method, 
by  which  it  becomes  more  impervious  to  the  X-rays 
and  hence  darker  in  the  skiagraph.  I  took  these  pic- 
tures not  at  the  rate  of  fourteen  or  so  a  second,  like 
the  others,  but  at  intervals  of  a  few  seconds.  I  did 
that  so  that,  when  I  run  them  off,  I  get  a  sort  of  com- 
pressed moving  picture.  What  you  see  in  a  short 
space  of  time  actually  took  much  longer  to  occur.  I 
could  have  either  kind  of  picture,  but  I  prefer  the  lat- 
ter. 


342  The  Dream  Doctor 

"For,  you  will  take  notice  that  there  is  movement 
here — of  the  heart,  of  the  lungs,  of  the  stomach — 
faint,  imperceptible  under  ordinary  circumstances,  but 
nevertheless,  movement." 

He  was  pointing  at  the  lungs.  "A  single  peristal- 
tic contraction  takes  place  normally  in  a  very  few  sec- 
onds. Here  it  takes  minutes.  And  the  stomach. 
Notice  what  the  bismuth  mixture  shows.  There  is  a 
very  slow  series  of  regular  wave-contractions  from  the 
fundus  to  the  pylorus.  Ordinarily  one  wave  takes 
ten  seconds  to  traverse  it ;  here  it  is  so  slow  as  almost 
to  be  unnoticed." 

What  was  the  implication  of  his  startling,  almost 
gruesome,  discovery?  I  saw  it  clearly,  yet  hung  on 
his  words,  afraid  to  admit  even  to  myself  the  logical 
interpretation  of  what  I  saw. 

"^Reconstruct  the  case,"  continued  Craig  excitedly. 
"Mr.  Phelps,  always  a  bon  vivant  and  now  so  situated 
by  marriage  that  he  must  be  so,  comes  back  to  Amer- 
ica to  find  his  personal  fortune — gone. 

"What  was  left?  He  did  as  many  have  done.  He 
took  out  a  new  large  policy  on  his  life.  How  was  he 
to  profit  by  it?  Others  have  committed  suicide,  have 
died  to  win.  Cases  are  common  now  where  men  have 
ended  their  lives  under  such  circumstances  by  swal- 
lowing bichloride-of-mercury  tablets,  a  favourite 
method,  it  seems,  lately. 

"But  Phelps  did  not  want  to  die  to  win.  Life  was 
too  sweet  to  him.  He  had  another  scheme."  Ken- 
nedy dropped  his  voice. 

"One  of  the  most  fascinating  problems  in  specula- 
tion as  to  the  future  of  the  race  under  the  influence  of 


The  X-Ray  "Movies"  343 

science  is  that  of  suspended  animation.  The  usual  at- 
titude is  one  of  reserve  or  scepticism.  There  is  no 
necessity  for  it.  Records  exist  of  cases  where  vital 
functions  have  been  practically  suspended,  with,  no 
food  and  little  air.  Every  day  science  is  getting  closer 
to  the  control  of  metabolism.  In  the  trance  the  body 
functions  are  so  slowed  as  to  simulate  death.  You 
have  heard  of  the  Indian  fakirs  who  bury  themselves 
alive  and  are  dug  up  days  later?  You  have  doubted 
it.  But  there  is  nothing  improbable  in  it. 

"Experiments  have  been  made  with  toads  which 
have  been  imprisoned  in  porous  rock  where  they  could 
get  the  necessary  air.  They  have  lived  for  months  in 
a  stupor.  In  impervious  rock  they  have  died. 
Frozen  fish  can  revive ;  bears  and  other  animals  hiber- 
nate. There  are  all  gradations  from  ordinary  sleep 
to  the  torpor  of  death.  Science  can  slow  down  almost 
to  a  standstill  the  vital  processes  so  that  excretions 
disappear  and  respiration  and  heart-beat  are  almost 
nil. 

"What  the  Indian  fakir  does  in  a  cataleptic  condi- 
tion may  be  duplicated.  It  is  not  incredible  that  they 
may  possess  some  vegetable  extract  by  which  they  per- 
form their  as  yet  unexplained  feats  of  prolonged  liv- 
ing burial.  For,  if  an  animal  free  from  disease  is  sub- 
jected to  the  action  of  some  chemical  and  physical 
agencies  which  have  the  property  of  reducing  to  the 
extreme  limit  the  motor  forces  and  nervous  stimulus, 
the  body  of  even  a  warm-blooded  animal  may  be 
brought  down  to  a  condition  so  closely  resembling 
death  that  the  most  careful  examination  may  fail  to 
detect  any  signs  of  life.  The  heart  will  continue 


344  The  Dream  Doctor 

working  regularly  at  low  tension,  supplying  muscles 
and  other  parts  with  sufficient  blood  to  sustain  molec- 
ular life,  and  the  stomach  would  naturally  react  to 
artificial  stimulus.  At  any  time  before  decomposition 
of  tissue  has  set  in,  the  heart  might  be  made  to  re- 
sume its  work  and  life  come  back. 

"Phelps  had  travelled  extensively.  In  Siberia  he 
must  undoubtedly  have  heard  of  the  Buriats,  a  tribe 
of  natives  who  hibernate,  almost  like  the  animals, 
during  the  winters,  succumbing  to  a  long  sleep  known 
as  the  'leshka.'  He  must  have  heard  of  the  experi- 
ments of  Professor  Bakhmetieff,  who  studied  the  Buri- 
ats and  found  that  they  subsisted  on  foods  rich  in  gly- 
cogen,  a  substance  in  the  liver  which  science  has  dis- 
covered makes  possible  life  during  suspended  anima- 
tion. He  must  have  heard  of  'anabiose/  as  the  famous 
Russian  calls  it,  by  which  consciousness  can  be  totally 
removed  and  respiration  and  digestion  cease  almost 
completely." 

"But — the  body — is  gone!"  some  one  interrupted. 
I  turned.  It  was  Dana  Phelps,  now  leaning  forward 
in  wide-eyed  excitement. 

"Yes,"  exclaimed  Craig.  "Time  was  passing  rap- 
idly. The  insurance  had  not  been  paid.  He  had  ex- 
pected to  be  revived  and  to  disappear  with  Anginette 
Phelps  long  before  this.  Should  the  confederates  of 
Phelps  wait?  They  did  not  dare.  To  wait  longer 
might  be  to  sacrifice  him,  if  indeed  they  had  not  taken 
a  long  chance  already.  Besides,  you  yourself  had 
your  suspicions  and  had  written  the  insurance  com- 
pany hinting  at  murder." 

Dana  nodded,  involuntarily  confessing. 


The  X-Ray  "Movies"  345 

"You  were  watching  them,  as  well  as  the  insurance 
investigator,  Mr.  Andrews.  It  was  an  awful  di- 
lemina.  What  was  to  be  done?  He  must  be  resusci- 
tated at  any  risk. 

"Ah — an  idea!  Rifle  the  grave — that  was  the  way 
to  solve  it.  That  would  still  leave  it  possible  to  col- 
lect the  insurance,  too.  The  blackmail  letter  about 
the  five  thousand  dollars  was  only  a  blind,  to  lay  on 
the  mythical  Black  Hand  the  blame  for  the  desecra- 
tion. Brought  into  light,  humidity,  and  warmth,  the 
body  would  recover  consciousness  and  the  life-func- 
tions resume  their  normal  state  after  the  anabiotic 
coma  into  which  Phelps  had  drugged  himself. 

"But  the  very  first  night  the  supposed  ghouls  were 
discovered.  Dana  Phelps,  already  suspicious  regard- 
ing the  death  of  his  brother,  wondering  at  the  lack  of 
sentiment  which  Mrs.  Phelps  showed,  since  she  felt 
that  her  husband  was  not  really  dead — Dana  was 
there.  His  suspicions  were  confirmed,  he  thought. 
Montague  had  been,  in  reality,  murdered,  and  his  mur- 
derers were  now  making  away  with  the  evidence.  He 
fought  with  the  ghouls,  yet  apparently,  in  the  dark- 
ness, he  did  not  discover  their  identity.  The  strug- 
gle was  bitter,  but  they  were  two  to  one.  Dana  was 
bitten  by  one  of  them.  Here  are  the  marks  of  teeth — 
teeth — of  a  woman." 

Anginette  Phelps  was  sobbing  convulsively.  She 
had  risen  and  was  facing  Doctor  Forden  with  out- 
stretched hands. 

"Tell  them !"  she  cried  wildly. 

Forden  seemed  to  have  maintained  his  composure 
only  by  a  superhuman  effort. 


346  The  Dream  Doctor 

"The — body  is — at  my  office,"  he  said,  as  we  faced 
him  with  deathlike  stillness.  "Phelps  had  told  us  to 
get  him  within  ten  days.  We  did  get  him,  finally. 
Gentlemen,  you,  who  were  seeking  murderers,  are.  in 
effect,  murderers.  You  kept  us  away  two  days  too 
long.  It  was  too  late.  We  could  not  revive  him. 
Phelps  is  really  dead !" 

"The  deuce !"  exclaimed  Andrews,  "the  policy  is 
incontestible !" 

As  he  turned  to  us  in  disgust,  his  eyes  fell  on  Angi- 
nette  Phelps,  sobered  down  by  the  terrible  tragedy  and 
nearly  a  physical  wreck  from  real  grief. 

"Still,"  he  added  hastily,  "we'll  pay  without  a  pro- 
test." 

She  did  not  even  hear  him.  It  seemed  that  the  but- 
terfly in  her  was  crushed,  as  Dr.  Forden  and  Miss 
Tracy  gently  led  her  away. 

They  had  all  left,  and  the  laboratory  was  again  in 
its  normal  state  of  silence,  except  for  the  occasional 
step  of  Kennedy  as  he  stowed  away  the  apparatus  he 
had  used. 

"I  must  say  that  I  was  one  of  the  most  surprised 
in  the  room  at  the  outcome  of  that  case,"  I  confessed 
at  length.  "I  fully  expected  an  arrest." 

He  said  nothing,  but  went  on  methodically  restoring 
his  apparatus  to  its  proper  place. 

"What  a  peculiar  life  you  lead,  Craig,"  I  pursued 
reflectively.  "One  day  it  is  a  case  that  ends  with 
such  a  bright  spot  in  our  lives  as  the  recollection  of 
the  Shirleys;  the  next  goes  to  the  other  extreme  of 
gruesomeness  and  one  can  hardly  think  about  it  with- 


The  X-Ray  "Movies"  347 

out  a  shudder.  And  then,  through  it  all,  you  go  with 
the  high  speed  power  of  a  racing  motor." 

"That  last  case  appealed  to  me,  like  many  others," 
he  ruminated,  "just  because  it  was  so  unusual,  so 
gruesome,  as  you  call  it." 

He  reached  into  the  pocket  of  his  coat,  hung  over 
the  back  of  a  chair. 

"Now,  here's  another  most  unusual  case,  apparently. 
It  begins,  really,  at  the  other  end,  so  to  speak,  with 
the  conviction,  begins  at  the  very  place  where  we  de- 
tectives send  a  man  as  the  last  act  of  our  little 
dramas." 

"What?"  I  gasped,  "another  case  before  even  this 
one  is  fairly  cleaned  up?  Craig — you  are  impossible. 
You  get  worse  instead  of  better." 

"Read  it,"  he  said,  simply.  Kennedy  handed  m*»  a 
letter  in  the  angular  hand  affected  by  many  women. 
It  was  dated  at  Sing  Sing,  or  rather  Ossining.  Craig 
seemed  to  appreciate  the  surprise  which  my  face  must 
have  betrayed  at  the  curious  combination  of  circum- 
stances. 

"Nearly  always  there  is  the  wife  or  mother  of  a  con- 
demned man  who  lives  in  the  shadow  of  the  prison," 
he  remarked  quietly,  adding,  "where  she  can  look 
down  at  the  grim  walls,  hoping  and  fearing." 

I  said  nothing,  for  the  letter  spoke  for  itself. 

I  have  read  of  your  success  as  a  scientific  detective  and  hope 
that  you  will  pardon  me  for  writing  to  you,  but  it  Is  a  matter 
of  life  or  death  for  one  who  is  dearer  to  me  than  all  the  world. 

Perhaps  you  recall  reading  of  the  trial  and  conviction  of  my 
husband,  Sanford  Godwin,  at  East  Point  The  case  did  not  at- 
tract much  attention  in  New  York  papers,  although  he  was  de- 
fended by  an  able  lawyer  from  the  city. 


348  The  Dream  Doctor 

Since  the  trial,  I  have  taken  up  my  residence  here  in  Ossining 
In  order  to  be  near  him.  As  I  write  I  can  see  the  cold,  grey 
walls  of  the  state  prison  that  holds  all  that  is  dear  to  me.  Day 
after  day,  I  have  watched  and  waited,  hoped  against  hope.  The 
courts  are  so  slow,  and  lawyers  are  so  technical.  There  have 
been  executions  since  I  came  here,  too — and  I  shudder  at  them. 
Will  this  appeal  be  denied,  also? 

My  husband  was  accused  of  murdering  by  poison — hemlock, 
they  alleged — his  adoptive  parent,  the  retired  merchant,  Parker 
Godwin,  whose  family  name  he  took  when  he  was  a  boy.  After 
the  death  of  the  old  man,  a  later  will  was  discovered  in  which 
my  husband's  inheritance  was  reduced  to  a  small  annuity. 
The  other  heirs,  the  Elmores,  asserted,  and  the  state  made  out 
its  case  on  the  assumption,  that  the  new  will  furnished  a  motive 
for  killing  old  Mr.  Godwin,  and  that  only  by  accident  had  it  been 
discovered. 

Sanford  is  innocent  He  could  not  have  done  it  It  is  not  in 
him  to  do  such  a  thing.  I  am  only  a  woman,  but  about  some 
things  I  know  more  than  all  the  lawyers  and  scientists,  and  I 
know  that  he  is  innocent 

I  cannot  write  all.  My  heart  is  too  full.  Cannot  you  come 
end  advise  me?  Even  if  you  cannot  take  up  the  case  to  which 
I  have  devoted  my  life,  tell  me  what  to  do.  I  am  enclosing  a 
check  for  expenses,  all  I  can  spare  at  present. 

Sincerely  yours, 

NELLA.  GODWIN. 

"Are  you  going?"  I  asked,  watching  Kennedy  as  he 
tapped  the  check  thoughtfully  on  the  desk. 

"I  can  hardly  resist  an  appeal  like  that,"  he  replied, 
absently  replacing  the  check  in  the  envelope  with  the 
letter. 


XXIII 

The  Death  House 

IN  the  early  forenoon,  we  were  on  our  way  by  train 
"up  the  river"  to  Sing  Sing,  where,  at  the  station, 
a  line  of  old-fashioned  cabs  and  red-faced  cabbies 
greeted  us,  for  the  town  itself  is  hilly. 

The  house  to  which  we  had  been  directed  was  on  the 
hill,  and  from  its  windows  one  could  look  down  on 
the  barracks-like  pile  of  stone  with  the  evil  little 
black-barred  slits  of  windows,  below  and  perhaps  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away. 

There  was  no  need  to  be  told  what  it  was.  Its  verj" 
atmosphere  breathed  the  word  "prison."  Even  the 
ugly  clutter  of  tall-chimneyed  workshops  did  not  de- 
stroy it.  Every  stone,  every  grill,  every  glint  of  a 
sentry's  rifle  spelt  "prison." 

Mrs.  Godwin  was  a  pale,  slight  little  woman,  in 
whose  face  shone  an  indomitable  spirit,  unconquered 
even  by  the  slow  torture  of  her  lonely  vigil.  Except 
for  such  few  hours  that  she  had  to  engage  in  her  sim- 
ple household  duties,  with  now  and  then  a  short  walk 
in  the  country,  she  was  always  watching  that  bleak 
stone  house  of  atonement. 

Yet,  though  her  spirit  was  unconquered,  it  needed 
no  physician  to  tell  one  that  the  dimming  of  the  lights 
at  the  prison  on  the  morning  set  for  the  execution 
would  fill  two  graves  instead  of  one.  For  she  had 
come  to  know  that  this  sudden  dimming  of  the  corri- 

349 


350  The  Dream  Doctor 

dor  lights,  and  then  their  almost  as  sudden  flaring-up, 
had  a  terrible  meaning,  well  known  to  the  men  inside. 
Hers  was  no  less  an  agony  than  that  of  the  men  in  the 
curtained  cells,  since  she  had  learned  that  when  the 
lights  grow  dim  at  dawn  at  Sing  Sing,  it  means  that 
the  electric  power  has  been  borrowed  for  just  that 
little  while  to  send  a  body  straining  against  the  straps 
of  the  electric  chair,  snuffing  out  the  life  of  a  man. 

To-day  she  had  evidently  been  watching  in  both  di- 
rections, watching  eagerly  the  carriages  as  they 
climbed  the  hill,  as  well  as  in  the  direction  of  the 
prison. 

"How  can  I  ever  thank  you,  Professor  Kennedy," 
she  greeted  us  at  the  door,  keeping  back  with  difficulty 
the  tears  that  showed  how  much  it  meant  to  have  any 
one  interest  himself  in  her  husband's  case. 

There  was  that  gentleness  about  Mrs.  Godwin  that 
comes  only  to  those  wTho  have  suffered  much. 

"It  has  been  a  long  fight,"  she  began,  as  we  talked 
in  her  modest  little  sitting-room,  into  which  the  sun 
streamed  brightly  with  no  thought  of  the  cold  shad- 
ows in  the  grim  building  below.  "Oh,  and  such  a 
hard,  heartbreaking  fight!  Often  it  seems  as  if  we 
had  exhausted  every  means  at  our  disposal,  and  yet 
we  shall  never  give  up.  Why  cannot  we  make  the 
world  see  our  case  as  we  see  it?  Everything  seems 
to  have  conspired  against  us — and  yet  I  cannot,  I  will 
not  believe  that  the  law  and  the  science  that  have  con- 
demned him  are  the  last  words  in  law  and  science." 

"You  said  in  your  letter  that  the  courts  were  so  slow 
and  the  lawyers  so — " 

"Yes,  so  cold,  so  technical.    They  do  not  seem  to 


The  Death  House  351 

realise  that  a  human  life  is  at  stake.  With  them  it  is 
almost  like  a  game  in  which  we  are  the  pawns.  And 
sometimes  I  fear,  in  spite  of  what  the  lawyers  say, 
that  without  some  new  evidence,  it— it  will  go  hard 
with  him." 

"You  have  not  given  up  hope  in  the  appeal?"  asked 
Kennedy  gently. 

"It  is  merely  on  technicalities  of  the  law,"  she  re- 
plied with  quiet  fortitude,  "that  is,  as  nearly  as  I  can 
make  out  from  the  language  of  the  papers.  Our  law- 
yer is  Salo  Kahn,  of  the  big  firm  of  criminal  lawyers, 
Smith,  Kahn  &  Smith." 

"A  good  lawyer,"  encouraged  Kennedy. 

"Yes,  I  know.  He  has  done  all  that  lawyers  can 
do.  But  the  evidence  was — what  you  would  call,  sci- 
entific— absolutely.  Three  expert  chemists  testified 
for  the  people  that  they  found  the  alkaloid,  conine,  in 
the  body.  You  see,  I  have  thought  and  rethought, 
read  and  reread  the  case  so  much  that  I  can  talk  like 
a — a  man  about  it.  Yes,  they  found  the  alkaloid  in 
the  body  and  try  as  he  did  there  was  no  way  that  Mr. 
Kahn  could  shake  their  testimony.  The  jury  believed 
them. 

"And  yet,  oh,  Professor  Kennedy,  is  there  nothing 
higher  than  this  cold  science  of  theirs?  It  cannot  be 
— it  cannot  be.  Sanford  has  told  me  the  truth,  and  I 
know  I  would  know  if  he  had  not  been  telling  me  what 
was  true." 

It  was  splendid,  this  exhibition  of  a  woman's  faith- 
fulness, of  this  wife  fighting  against  such  tremendous 
weight  of  odds,  fighting  his  fight,  daring  both  law  and 
science  in  her  intrepid  belief  in  him. 

23 


352  The  Dream  Doctor 

"Conine,"  mused  Kennedy,  half  to  himself.  I  could 
not  tell  whether  he  was  thinking  of  what  he  repeated 
or  of  the  little  woman. 

"Yes,  the  active  principle  of  hemlock,"  she  went  on. 
"That  was  what  the  experts  discovered,  they  swore. 
In  the  pure  state,  I  believe,  it  is  more  poisonous  than 
anything  except  the  cyanides.  And  it  was  absolutely 
scientific  evidence.  They  repeated  the  tests  in  court. 
There  was  no  doubt  of  it.  But,  oh,  he  did  not  do  it. 
Some  one  else  did  it.  He  did  not — he  could  not." 

Kennedy  said  nothing  for  a  few  minutes,  but  from 
his  tone  when  he  did  speak  it  was  evident  that  he  was 
deeply  touched. 

"Since  our  marriage  we  lived  with  old  Mr.  Godwin 
in  the  historic  Godwin  House  at  East  Point,"  she  re- 
sumed, as  he  renewed  his  questioning.  "Sanford — 
that  was  my  husband's  real  last  name  until  he  came 
as  a  boy  to  work  for  Mr.  Godwin  in  the  office  of  the 
factory  and  was  adopted  by  his  employer — Sanford 
and  I  kept  house  for  him. 

"About  a  year  ago  he  began  to  grow  feeble  and  sel- 
dom went  to  the  factory,  which  Sanford  managed  for 
him.  One  night  Mr.  Godwin  was  taken  suddenly  ill. 
I  don't  know  how  long  he  had  been  ill  before  we  heard 
him  groaning,  but  he  died  almost  before  we  could  sum- 
mon a  doctor.  There  was  really  nothing  suspicious 
about  it,  but  there  had  always  been  a  great  deal  of 
jealousy  of  my  husband  in  the  town  and  especially 
among  the  few  distant  relatives  of  Mr.  Godwin. 
What  must  have  started  as  an  idle,  gossipy  rumour 
developed  into  a  serious  charge  that  my  husband  had 
hastened  his  old  guardian's  death. 


The  Death  House  353 

"The  original  will — the  will,  I  call  it — had  been 
placed  in  the  safe  of  the  factory  several  years  ago. 
But  when  the  gossip  in  the  town  grew  bitter,  one  day 
when  we  were  out,  some  private  detectives  entered 
the  house  with  a  warrant — and  they  did  actually  find 
a  will,  another  will  about  which  we  knew  nothing, 
dated  later  than  the  first  and  hidden  with  some  papers 
in  the  back  of  a  closet,  or  sort  of  fire  proof  box,  built 
into  the  wall  of  the  library.  The  second  will  was  iden- 
tical with  the  first  in  language  except  that  its  terms 
were  reversed  and  instead  of  being  the  residuary  lega- 
tee, Sanford  was  given  a  comparatively  small  annuity, 
and  the  Elmores  were  made  residuary  legatees  instead 
of  annuitants." 

"And  who  are  these  Elmores?"  asked  Kennedy  curi- 
ously. 

"There  are  three,  two  grandnephews  and  a  grand- 
niece,  Bradford,  Lambert,  and  their  sister  Miriam." 

"And  they  live—" 

"In  East  Point,  also.  Old  Mr.  Godwin  was  not  very 
friendly  with  his  sister,  whose  grandchildren  they 
were.  They  were  the  only  other  heirs  living,  and  al- 
though Sanford  never  had  anything  to  do  with  it,  I 
think  they  always  imagined  that  he  tried  to  prejudice 
the  old  man  against  them." 

"I  shall  want  to  see  the  Elmores,  or  at  least  some 
one  who  represents  them,  as  well  as  the  district  at- 
torney up  there  who  conducted  the  case.  But  now 
that  I  am  here,  I  wonder  if  it  is  possible  that  I  could 
bring  any  influence  to  bear  to  see  your  husband?" 

Mrs.  Godwin  sighed. 

"Once  a  month,"  she  replied,  "I  leave  this  window, 


354  The  Dream  Doctor 

walk  to  the  prison,  where  the  warden  is  very  kind  to 
me,  and  then  I  can  see  Sanford.  Of  course  there 
are  bars  between  us  besides  the  regular  screen.  But 
I  can  have  an  hour's  talk,  and  in  those  talks  he  has 
described  to  me  exactly  every  detail  of  his  life  in  the 
— the  prison.  We  have  even  agreed  on  certain  hours 
when  we  think  of  each  other.  In  those  hours  I  know 
almost  what  he  is  thinking."  She  paused  to  collect 
herself.  "Perhaps  there  may  be  some  way  if  I  plead 
with  the  warden.  Perhaps — you  may  be  considered 
his  counsel  now — you  may  see  him." 

A  half  hour  later  we  sat  in  the  big  registry  room  of 
the  prison  and  talked  with  the  big-hearted,  big-handed 
warden.  Every  argument  that  Kennedy  could  sum- 
mon was  brought  to  bear.  He  even  talked  over  long 
distance  with  the  lawyers  in  New  York.  At  last  the 
rules  were  relaxed  and  Kennedy  was  admitted  on  some 
technicality  as  counsel.  Counsel  can  see  the  con- 
demned as  often  as  necessary. 

We  were  conducted  down  a  flight  of  steps  and  past 
huge  steel-barred  doors,  along  corridors  and  through 
the  regular  prison  until  at  last  we  were  in  what  the 
prison  officials  called  the  section  for  the  condemned. 
Every  one  else  calls  this  secret  heart  of  the  grim 
place,  the  death  house. 

It  is  made  up  of  two  rows  of  cells,  some  eighteen  or 
twenty  in  all,  a  little  more  modern  in  construction 
than  the  twelve  hundred  archaic  caverns  that  pass  for 
cells  in  the  main  prison. 

At  each  end  of  the  corridor  sat  a  guard,  armed,  with 
eyes  never  off  the  rows  of  cells  day  or  night. 

In  the  wall,  on  one  side,  was  a  door — the  little  green 


The  Death  House  355 

door — the  door  from  the  death  house  to  the  death 
chamber. 

While  Kennedy  was  talking  to  the  prisoner,  a  guard 
volunteered  to  show  me  the  death  chamber  and  the 
"chair."  No  other  furniture  was  there  in  the  little 
brick  house  of  one  room  except  this  awful  chair,  of 
yellow  oak  with  broad,  leather  straps.  There  it  stood, 
the  sole  article  in  the  brightly  varnished  room  of  about 
twenty-five  feet  square  with  walls  of  clean  blue,  this 
grim  acolyte  of  modern  scientific  death.  There  were 
the  wet  electrodes  that  are  fastened  to  the  legs  through 
slits  in  the  trousers  at  the  calves ;  above  was  the  pipe- 
like  fixture,  like  a  gruesome  helmet  of  leather  that  fits 
over  the  head,  carrying  the  other  electrode. 

Back  of  the  condemned  was  the  switch  which  lets 
loose  a  lethal  store  of  energy,  and  back  of  that  the 
prison  morgue  where  the  bodies  are  taken.  I  looked 
about.  In  the  wall  to  the  left  toward  the  death  house 
was  also  a  door,  on  this  side  yellow.  Somehow  I  could 
not  get  from  my  mind  the  fascination  of  that  door — 
the  threshold  of  the  grave. 

Meanwhile  Kennedy  sat  in  the  little  cage  and  talked 
with  the  convicted  man  across  the  three-foot  distance 
between  cell  and  screen.  I  did  not  see  him  at  that 
time,  but  Kennedy  repeated  afterward  what  passed, 
and  it  so  impressed  me  that  I  will  set  it  down  as  if  I 
had  been  present. 

Sanford  Godwin  was  a  tall,  ashen-faced  man,  in  the 
prison  pallor  of  whose  face  was  written  the  determi- 
nation  of  despair,  a  man  in  whose  blue  eyes  was  a 
queer,  half-insane  light  of  hope.  One  knew  that  if  it 
had  not  been  for.  the  little  woman  at  the  window  at 


356  The  Dream  Doctor 

the  top  of  the  hill,  the  hope  would  probably  long  ago 
have  faded.  But  this  man  knew  she  was  always  there, 
thinking,  watching,  eagerly  planning  in  aid  of  any 
new  scheme  in  the  long  fight  for  freedom. 

"The  alkaloid  was  present,  that  is  certain,"  he  told 
Kennedy.  "My  wife  has  told  you  that.  It  was  scien- 
tifically proved.  There  is  no  use  in  attacking  that." 

Later  on  he  remarked:  "Perhaps  you  think  it 
strange  that  one  in  the  very  shadow  of  the  death 
chair" — the  word  stuck  in  his  throat — "can  talk  so 
impersonally  of  his  own  case.  Sometimes  I  think  it 
is  not  my  case,  but  some  one  else's.  And  then — that 
door." 

He  shuddered  and  turned  away  from  it.  On  one 
side  was  life,  such  as  it  was;  on  the  other,  instant 
death.  No  wonder  he  pleaded  with  Kennedy. 

"Why,  Walter,"  exclaimed  Craig,  as  we  walked 
back  to  the  warden's  office  to  telephone  to  town  for  a 
car  to  take  us  up  to  East  Point,  "whenever  he  looks 
out  of  that  cage  he  sees  it.  He  may  close  his  eyes — 
and  still  see  it.  When  he  exercises,  he  sees  it.  Think- 
ing by  day  and  dreaming  by  night,  it  is  always  there. 
Think  of  the  terrible  hours  that  man  must  pass,  know- 
ing of  the  little  woman  eating  her  heart  out.  Is  he 
really  guilty?  I  must  find  out.  If  he  is  not,  I  never 
saw  a  greater  tragedy  than  this  slow,  remorseless  ap- 
proach of  death,  in  that  daily,  hourly  shadow  of  the 
little  green  door." 

East  Point  was  a  queer  old  town  on  the  upper  Hud- 
son, with  a  varying  assortment  of  industries.  Just 
outside,  the  old  house  of  the  Godwins  stood  on  a  bluff 
overlooking  the  majestic  river.  Kennedy  had  wanted 


The  Death  House  357 

to  see  it  before  any  one  suspected  his  mission,  and  a 
note  from  Mrs.  Godwin  to  a  friend  had  been  sufficient. 

Carefully  he  went  over  the  deserted  and  now  half- 
wrecked  house,  for  the  authorities  had  spared  nothing 
in  their  search  for  poison,  even  going  over  the  garden 
and  the  lawns  in  the  hope  of  finding  some  of  the  poi- 
sonous shrub,  hemlock,  which  it  was  contended  had 
been  used  to  put  an  end  to  Mr.  Godwin. 

As  yet  nothing  had  been  done  to  put  the  house  in  or- 
der again  and,  as  we  walked  about,  we  noticed  a  pile 
of  old  tins  in  the  yard  which  had  not  been  removed. 

Kennedy  turned  them  over  with  his  stick.  Then 
he  picked  one  up  and  examined  it  attentively. 

"H-m — a  blown  can,"  he  remarked. 

"Blown?"  I  repeated. 

"Yes.  When  the  contents  of  a  tin  begin  to  deterio- 
rate they  sometimes  give  off  gases  which  press  out  the 
ends  of  the  tin.  You  can  see  how  these  ends 
bulge." 

Our  next  visit  was  to  the  district  attorney,  a  young 
man,  Gordon  Kilgore,  who  seemed  not  unwilling  to 
discuss  the  case  frankly. 

"I  want  to  make  arrangements  for  disinterring  the 
body,"  explained  Kennedy.  "Would  you  fight  such 
a  move?" 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  he  answered  brusquely. 
"Simply  make  the  arrangements  through  Kahn.  I 
shall  interpose  no  objection.  It  is  the  strongest, 
most  impregnable  part  of  the  case,  the  discovery  of 
the  poison.  If  you  can  break  that  down  you  will  do 
more  than  any  one  else  has  dared  to  hope.  But  it 
can't  be  done.  The  proof  was  too  strong.  Of  course 


358  The  Dream  Doctor 

it  is  none  of  my  business,  but  I'd  advise  some  other 
point  of  attack." 

I  must  confess  to  a  feeling  of  disappointment  when 
Kennedy  announced  after  leaving  Kilgore  that,  for 
the  present,  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done  at 
East  Point  until  Kahn  had  made  the  arrangements 
for  reopening  the  grave. 

We  motored  back  to  Ossining,  and  Kennedy  tried 
to  be  reassuring  to  Mrs.  Godwin. 

"By  the  way,"  he  remarked,  just  before  we  left, 
"you  used  a  good  deal  of  canned  goods  at  the  God- 
win house,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  but  not  more  than  other  people,  I  think," 
she  said. 

"Do  you  recall  using  any  that  were — well,  per- 
haps not  exactly  spoiled,  but  that  had  anything  pe- 
culiar about  them?" 

"I  remember  once  we  thought  we  found  some  cans 
that  seemed  to  have  been  attacked  by  mice — at  least 
they  smelt  so,  though  how  mice  could  get  through  a 
tin  can  we  couldn't  see." 

"Mice?"  queried  Kennedy.  "Had  a  mousey  smell? 
That's  interesting.  Well,  Mrs.  Godwin,  keep  up  a 
good  heart.  Depend  on  me.  What  you  have  told  me 
to-day  has  made  me  more  than  interested  in  your  case. 
I  shall  waste  no  time  in  letting  you  know  when  any- 
thing encouraging  develops." 

Craig  had  never  had  much  patience  with  red  tape 
that  barred  the  way  to  the  truth,  yet  there  were  times 
when  law  and  legal  procedure  had  to  be  respected, 
no  matter  how  much  they  hampered,  and  this  was  one 
of  them.  The  next  day  the  order  was  obtained  per- 


The  Death  House  359 

mitting  the  opening  again  of  the  grave  of  old  Mr. 
Godwin.  The  body  was  exhumed,  and  Kennedy  set 
about  his  examination  of  what  secrets  it  might  hide. 

Meanwhile,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  suspense  was 
terrible.  Kennedy  was  moving  slowly,  I  thought. 
Not  even  the  courts  themselves  could  have  been  more 
deliberate.  Also,  he  was  keeping  much  to  himself. 

Still,  for  another  whole  day,  there  was  the  slow, 
inevitable  approach  of  the  thing  that  now,  I,  too,  had 
come  to  dread — the  handing  down  of  the  final  decision 
on  the  appeal. 

Yet  what  could  Craig  do  otherwise,  I  asked  myself. 
I  had  become  deeply  interested  in  the  case  by  this 
time  and  spent  the  time  reading  all  the  evidence,  hun- 
dreds of  pages  of  it.  It  was  cold,  hard,  brutal,  scien- 
tific fact,  and  as  I  read  I  felt  that  hope  faded  for  the 
ashen-faced  man  and  the  pallid  little  woman.  It 
seemed  the  last  word  in  science.  Was  there  any  way 
of  escape? 

Impatient  as  I  was,  I  often  wondered  what  must 
have  been  the  suspense  of  those  to  whom  the  case 
meant  everything. 

"How  are  the  tests  coming  along?"  I  ventured  one 
night,  after  Kahn  had  arranged  for  the  uncovering 
of  the  grave. 

It  was  now  two  days  since  Kennedy  had  gone  up 
to  East  Point  to  superintend  the  exhumation  and  had 
returned  to  the  city  with  the  materials  which  had 
caused  him  to  keep  later  hours  in  the  laboratory  than 
I  had  ever  known  even  the  indefatigable  Craig  to 
spend  on  a  stretch  before. 

He  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 


360  The  Dream  Doctor 

"Walter,"  he  admitted,  "I'm  afraid  I  have  reached 
the  limit  on  the  line  of  investigation  I  had  planned 
at  the  start." 

I  looked  at  him  in  dismay.  "What  then?"  I  man- 
aged to  gasp. 

"I  am  going  up  to  East  Point  again  to-morrow  to 
look  over  that  house  and  start  a  new  line.  You  can 
go/' 

No  urging  was  needed,  and  the  following  day  saw 
us  again  on  the  ground.  The  house,  as  I  have  said, 
had  been  almost  torn  to  pieces  in  the  search  for  the 
will  and  the  poison  evidence.  As  before,  we  went 
to  it  unannounced,  and  this  time  we  had  no  difficulty 
in  getting  in.  Kennedy,  who  had  brought  with  him 
a  large  package,  made  his  way  directly  to  a  sort  of 
drawing-room  next  to  the  large  library,  in  the  closet 
of  which  the  will  had  been  discovered. 

He  unwrapped  the  package  and  took  from  it  a  huge 
brace  and  bit,  the  bit  a  long,  thin,  murderous  looking 
affair  such  as  might  have  come  from  a  burglar's  kit. 
I  regarded  it  much  in  that  light. 

"What's  the  lay?"  I  asked,  as  he  tapped  over  the 
walls  to  ascertain  of  just  what  they  were  composed. 

Without  a  word  he  was  now  down  on  his  knees, 
drilling  a  hole  in  the  plaster  and  lath.  When  he 
struck  an  obstruction  he  stopped,  removed  the  bit,  in- 
serted another,  and  began  again. 

"Are  you  going  to  put  in  a  detectaphone?"  I  asked 
again. 

He  shook  his  head.  "A  detectaphone  wouldn't  be 
of  any  use  here,"  he  replied.  "No  one  is  going  to  do 
any  talking  in  that  room." 


The  Death  House  361 

Again  the  brace  and  bit  were  at  work.  At  last 
the  wall  had  been  penetrated,  and  he  quickly  removed 
every  trace  from  the  other  side  that  would  have  at- 
tracted attention  to  a  little  hole  in  an  obscure  corner 
of  the  flowered  wall-paper. 

Next,  he  drew  out  what  looked  like  a  long  putty- 
blower,  perhaps  a  foot  long  and  three-eighths  of  an 
inch  in  diameter. 

"What's  that?"  I  asked,  as  he  rose  after  carefully 
inserting  it. 

"Look  through  it,"  he  replied  simply,  still  at  work 
on  some  other  apparatus  he  had  brought. 

I  looked.  In  spite  of  the  smallness  of  the  opening 
at  the  other  end,  I  was  amazed  to  find  that  I  could 
see  nearly  the  whole  room  on  the  other  side  of  the 
wall. 

"It's  a  detectascope,"  he  explained,  "a  tube  with  a 
fish-eye  lens  which  I  had  an  expert  optician  make  for 
me." 

"A  fish-eye  lens?"  I  repeated. 

"Yes.  The  focus  may  be  altered  in  range  so  that 
any  one  in  the  room  may  be  seen  and  recognised  and 
any  action  of  his  may  be  detected.  The  original  of 
this  was  devised  by  Gaillard  Smith,  the  adapter  of 
the  detectaphone.  The  instrument  is  something  like 
the  cytoscope,  which  the  doctors  use  to  look  into  the 
human  interior.  Now,  look  through  it  again.  Do 
you  see  the  closet?" 

Again  I  looked.  "Yes,"  I  said,  "but  will  one  of  us 
have  to  watch  here  all  the  time?" 

He  had  been  working  on  a  black  box  in  the  mean- 
time, and  now  he  began  to  set  it  up,  adjusting  it  to 


362  The  Dream  Doctor 

the   hole  in   the   wall   which   he   enlarged    on   our 
Bide. 

"No,  that  is  my  own  improvement  on  it.  You  re- 
member once  we  used  a  quick-shutter  camera  with  an 
electric  attachment,  which  moved  the  shutter  on  the 
contact  of  a  person  with  an  object  in  the  room?  Well, 
this  camera  has  that  quick  shutter.  But,  in 
addition,  I  have  adapted  to  the  detectascope  an 
invention  by  Professor  Eobert  Wood,  of  Johns  Hop- 
kins. He  has  devised  a  fish-eye  camera  that  'sees' 
over  a  radius  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  degrees — 
not  only  straight  in  front,  but  over  half  a  circle,  every 
point  in  that  room. 

"You  know  the  refracting  power  of  a  drop  of  water. 
Since  it  is  a  globe,  it  refracts  the  light  which  reaches 
it  from  all  directions.  If  it  is  placed  like  the  lens  of 
a  camera,  as  Dr.  Wood  tried  it,  so  that  one-half  of 
it  catches  the  light,  all  the  light  caught  will  be  re- 
fracted through  it.  Fishes,  too,  have  a  wide  range 
of  vision.  Some  have  eyes  that  see  over  half  a  circle. 
So  the  lens  gets  its  name.  Ordinary  cameras,  be- 
cause of  the  flatness  of  their  lenses,  have  a  range  of 
only  a  few  degrees,  the  widest  in  use,  I  believe,  taking 
in  only  ninety-six,  or  a  little  more  than  a  quarter  of 
a  circle.  So,  you  see,  my  detectascope  has  a  range 
almost  twice  as  wide  as  that  of  any  other." 

Though  I  did  not  know  what  he  expected  to  dis- 
cover and  knew  that  it  was  useless  to  ask,  the  thing 
seemed  very  interesting.  Craig  did  not  pause,  how- 
ever, to  enlarge  on  the  new  machine,  but  gathered  up 
his  tools  and  announced  that  our  next  step  would  be 
a  visit  to  a  lawyer  whom  the  Elmores  had  retained 


The  Death  House  363 

as  their  personal  counsel  to  look  after  their  interests, 
now  that  the  district  attorney  seemed  to  have  cleared 
up  the  criminal  end  of  the  case. 

Hollins  was  one  of  the  prominent  attorneys  of  East 
Point,  and  before  the  election  of  Kilgore  as  prose- 
cutor had  been  his  partner.  Unlike  Kilgore,  we 
found  him  especially  uncommunicative  and  inclined 
to  resent  our  presence  in  the  case  as  intruders. 

The  interview  did  not  seem  to  me  to  be  productive 
of  anything.  In  fact,  it  seemed  as  if  Craig  were  giv- 
ing Hollins  much  more  than  he  was  getting. 

"I  shall  be  in  town  over  night,"  remarked  Craig. 
"In  fact,  I  am  thinking  of  going  over  the  library  up 
at  the  Godwin  house  soon,  very  carefully."  He  spoke 
casually.  "There  may  be,  you  know,  some  finger- 
prints on  the  walls  around  that  closet  which  might 
prove  interesting." 

A  quick  look  from  Hollins  was  the  only  answer. 
In  fact,  it  was  seldom  that  he  uttered  more  than  a 
monosyllable  as  we  talked  over  the  various  aspects 
of  the  case. 

A  half-hour  later,  when  he  had  left  and  had  gone 
to  the  hotel,  I  asked  Kennedy  suspiciously,  "Why 
did  you  expose  your  hand  to  Hollins,  Craig?" 

He  laughed.  "Oh,  Walter,"  he  remonstrated, 
"don't  you  know  that  it  is  nearly  always  useless  to 
look  for  finger-prints,  except  under  some  circum- 
stances, even  a  few  days  afterward?  This  is  months, 
not  days.  Why  on  iron  and  steel  they  last  with  tol- 
erable certainty  only  a  short  time,  and  not  much 
longer  on  silver,  glass,  or  wood.  But  they  are  seldom 
permanent  unless  they  are  made  with  ink  or  blood 


364  .  The  Dream  Doctor 

or  something  that  leaves  a  more  or  less  indelible 
mark.  That  was  a  'plant.'  " 

"But  what  do  you  expect  to  gain  by  it?" 

"Well,"  he  replied  enigmatically,  "no  one  is  neces- 
sarily honest." 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Kennedy  again 
visited  the  Godwin  house  and  examined  the  camera. 
Without  a  word  he  pulled  the  detectascope  from  the 
Wall  and  carried  the  whole  thing  to  the  developing- 
room  of  the  local  photographer. 

There  he  set  to  work  on  the  film  and  I  watched  him 
in  silence.  He  seemed  very  much  excited  as  he 
watched  the  film  develop,  until  at  last  he  held  it  up, 
dripping,  to  the  red  light. 

"Some  one  has  entered  that  room  this  afternoon 
and  attempted  to  wipe  off  the  walls  and  woodwork 
of  that  closet,  as  I  expected,"  he  exclaimed. 

"Who  was  it?"  I  asked,  leaning  over. 

Kennedy  said  nothing,  but  pointed  to  a  figure  on 
the  film.  I  bent  closer.  It  was  the  figure  of  a 
woman. 

"Miriam!"  I  exclaimed  in  surprise. 


XXIV 

The  Final  Day 

I  LOOKED  aghast  at  him.  If  it  had  been  either 
Bradford  or  Lambert,  both  of  whom  we  had 
come  to  know  since  Kennedy  had  interested  himself 
in  the  case,  or  even  Hollins  or  Kilgore,  I  should  not 
have  been  surprised.  But  Miriam! 

"How  could  she  have  any  connection  with  the 
case?"  I  asked  incredulously. 

Kennedy  did  not  attempt  to  explain.  "It  is  a  fatal 
mistake,  Walter,  for  a  detective  to  assume  that  he 
knows  what  anybody  would  do  in  any  given  circum- 
stances. The  only  safe  course  for  him  is  to  find  out 
what  the  persons  in  question  did  do.  People  are 
always  doing  the  unexpected.  This  is  a  case  of  it, 
as  you  see.  I  am  merely  trying  to  get  back  at  facts. 
Come ;  I  think  we  might  as  well  not  stay  over  night, 
after  all.  I  should  like  to  drop  off  on  the  way  back 
to  the  city  to  see  Mrs.  Godwin." 

As  we  rode  up  the  hill  I  was  surprised  to  see  that 
there  was  no  one  at  the  window,  nor  did  any  one  seem, 
to  pay  attention  to  our  knocking  at  the  door. 

Kennedy  turned  the  knob  quickly  and  strode  in. 

Seated  in  a  chair,  as  white  as  a  wraith  from  the 
grave,  was  Mrs.  Godwin,  staring  straight  ahead,  see- 
ing nothing,  hearing  nothing. 

365 


366  The  Dream  Doctor 

* 

"What's  the  matter?'  demanded  Kennedy,  leaping 
to  her  side  and  grasping  her  icy  hand. 

The  stare  on  her  face  seemed  to  change  slightly  as 
she  recognised  him. 

"Walter — some  water — and  a  little  brandy — if 
there  is  any.  Tell  me — what  has  happened?" 

From  her  lap  a  yellow  telegram  had  fluttered  to 
the  floor,  but  before  he  could  pick  it  up,  she  gasped, 
"The  appeal — it  has  been  denied."  Kennedy  picked 
up  the  paper.  It  was  a  message,  unsigned,  but  not 
from  Kahn,  as  its  wording  and  in  fact  the  circum- 
stances plainly  showed. 

"The  execution  is  set  for  the  week  beginning  the 
fifth,"  she  continued,  in  the  same  hollow,  mechanical 
voice.  "My  God — that's  next  Monday!" 

She  had  risen  now  and  was  pacing  the  room. 

"No!  I'm  not  going  to  faint.  I  wish  I  could.  I 
wish  I  could  cry.  I  wish  I  could  do  something.  Oh, 
those  Elmores — they  must  have  sent  it.  No  one 
would  have  been  so  cruel  but  they." 

She  stopped  and  gazed  wildly  out  of  the  window 
at  the  prison.  Neither  of  us  knew  what  to  say  for 
the  moment. 

"Many  times  from  this  window,"  she  cried,  "I  have 
seen  a  man  walk  out  of  that  prison  gate.  I  always 
watch  to  see  what  he  does,  though  I  know  it  is  no 
use.  If  he  stands  in  the  free  air,  stops  short,  and 
looks  up  suddenly,  taking  a  long  look  at  every  house 
— I  hope.  But  he  always  turns  for  a  quick,  back- 
ward look  at  the  prison  and  goes  half  running  down 
the  hill.  They  always  stop  in  that  fashion,  when  the 
steel  door  opens  outward.  Yet  I  have  always  looked 


The  Final  Day  367 

and  hoped.  But  I  can  hope  no  more — no  more.  The 
last  chance  is  gone." 

"No — not  the  last  chance,"  exclaimed  Craig, 
springing  to  her  side  lest  she  should  fall.  Then  he 
added  gently,  "You  must  come  with  me  to  East  Point 
— immediately." 

"What — leave  him  here — alone — in  the  last  days? 
No — no— no.  Never.  I  must  see  him.  I  wonder  if 
they  have  told  him  yet." 

It  was  evident  that  she  had  lost  faith  in  Kennedy, 
in  everybody,  now. 

"Mrs.  Godwin,"  he  urged.  "Come — you  must.  It 
is  a  last  chance." 

Eagerly  he  was  pouring  out  the  story  of  the  dis- 
covery of  the  afternoon  by  the  little  detectascope. 

"Miriam?"  she  repeated,  dazed.  "She — know  any- 
thing— it  can't  be.  No — don't  raise  a  false  hope 
now." 

"It  is  the  last  chance,"  he  urged  again.  "Come. 
There  is  not  an  hour  to  waste  now." 

There  was  no  delay,  no  deliberation  about  Kennedy 
now.  He  had  been  forced  out  into  the  open  by  the 
course  of  events,  and  he  meant  to  take  advantage  o/ 
every  precious  moment. 

Down  the  hill  our  car  sped  to  the  town,  with  Mrs. 
Godwin  still  protesting,  but  hardly  realising  what 
was  going  on.  Regardless  of  tolls,  Kennedy  culled 
up  his  laboratory  in  New  York  and  had  two  of  his 
most  careful  students  pack  up  the  stuff  which  he  de- 
scribed minutely  to  be  carried  to  East  Point  immedi- 
ately by  train.  Kahn,  too,  was  at  last  found  and 
summoned  to  meet  us  there,  also. 

24 


368  The  Dream  Doctor 

Miles  never  seemed  longer  than  they  did  to  us  as 
we  tore  over  the  country  from  Ossining  to  East  Point, 
a  silent  party,  yet  keyed  up  by  an  excitement  that 
none  of  us  had  ever  felt  before. 

Impatiently  we  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  men 
from  Kennedy's  laboratory,  while  we  made  Mrs.  God- 
win as  comfortable  as  possible  in  a  room  at  the  hotel. 
In  one  of  the  parlours  Kennedy  was  improvising  a 
laboratory  as  best  he  could.  Meanwhile,  Kahn  had 
arrived,  and  together  we  were  seeking  those  whose 
connection  with,  or  interest  in,  the  case  made  neces- 
sary their  presence. 

It  was  well  along  toward  midnight  before  the 
hasty  conference  had  been  gathered;  besides  Mrs. 
Oodwin,  Salo  Kahn,  and  ourselves,  the  three  Elmores, 
Kilgore,  and  Hollins. 

Strange  though  it  was,  the  room  seemed  to  me  al- 
most to  have  assumed  the  familiar  look  of  the  labora- 
tory in  New  York.  There  was  the  same  clutter  of 
tubes  and  jars  on  the  tables,  but  above  all  that  same 
feeling  of  suspense  in  the  air  which  I  had  come  to 
associate  with  the  clearing  up  of  a  case.  There  was 
something  else  in  the  air,  too.  It  was  a  peculiar 
mousey  smell,  disagreeable,  and  one  which  made  it 
a  relief  to  have  Kennedy  begin  in  a  low  voice  to  tell 
why  he  had  called  us  together  so  hastily. 

"I  shall  start,"  announced  Kennedy,  "at  the  point 
where  the  state  left  off — with  the  proof  that  Mr.  God- 
win died  of  conine,  or  hemlock  poisoning.  Conine, 
as  every  chemist  knows,  has  a  long  and  well-known 
history.  It  was  the  first  alkaloid  to  be  synthesised. 
Here  is  a  sample,  this  colourless,  oily  fluid.  No 


The  Final  Day  369 

doubt  you  have  noticed  the  mousey  odour  in  this 
room.  As  little  as  one  part  of  conine  to  fifty  thou- 
sand of  water  gives  off  that  odour — it  is  character- 
istic. 

"I  have  proceeded  with  extraordinary  caution  in 
my  investigation  of  this  case,"  he  went  on.  "In  fact, 
there  would  have  been  no  value  in  it,  otherwise,  for 
the  experts  for  the  people  seem  to  have  established 
the  presence  of  conine  in  the  body  with  absolute  cer- 
tainty." 

He  paused  and  we  waited  expectantly. 

"I  have  had  the  body  exhumed  and  have  repeated 
the  tests.  The  alkaloid  which  I  discovered  had  given 
precisely  the  same  results  as  in  their  tests." 

My  heart  sank.  What  was  he  doing — convicting 
the  man  over  again? 

"There  is  one  other  test  which  I  tried,"  he  contin- 
ued, "but  which  I  can  not  take  time  to  duplicate  to- 
night. It  was  testified  at  the  trial  that  conine,  the 
active  principle  of  hemlock,  is  intensely  poisonous. 
No  chemical  antidote  is  known.  A  fifth  of  xt  gram 
has  serious  results;  a  drop  is  fatal.  An  injection 
of  a  most  minute  quantity  of  real  conine  will  kill  a 
mouse,  for  instance,  almost  instantly.  But  the  co- 
nine  which  I  have  isolated  in  the  body  is  inert !" 

It  came  like  a  bombshell  to  the  prosecution,  so 
bewildering  was  the  discovery. 

"Inert?"  cried  Kilgore  and  Hollins  almost  to- 
gether. "It  can't  be.  You  are  making  sport  of  the 
best  chemical  experts  that  money  could  obtain.  In- 
ert? Read  the  evidence — read  the  books." 

"On  the  contrary,"  resumed  Craig,  ignoring  the 


370  The  Dream  Doctor 

interruption,  "all  the  reactions  obtained  by  the  ex- 
perts have  been  duplicated  by  me.  But,  in  addition, 
I  tried  this  one  test  which  they  did  not  try.  I  re- 
peat: the  conine  isolated  in  the  body  is  inert." 

We  were  too  perplexed  to  question  him. 

"Alkaloids,"  he  continued  quietly,  "as  you  know, 
have  names  that  end  in  'in'  or  'ine' — morphine,  strych- 
nine, and  so  on.  Now  there  are  two  kinds  of  alka- 
loids which  are  sometimes  called  vegetable  and  ani- 
mal. Moreover,  there  is  a  large  class  of  which  we 
are  learning  much  which  are  called  the  ptomaines — • 
from  ptoma,  a  corpse.  Ptomaine  poisoning,  as  every 
one  knows,  results  when  we  eat  food  that  has  begun 
to  decay. 

"Ptomaines  are  chemical  compounds  of  an  alka- 
loidal  nature  formed  in  protein  substances  during  pu- 
trefaction. They  are  purely  chemical  bodies  and 
differ  from  the  toxins.  There  are  also  what  are 
called  leucomaines,  formed  in  living  tissues,  and  when 
not  given  off  by  the  body  they  produce  auto-intoxica- 
tion. 

"There  are  more  than  three  score  ptomaines,  and 
half  of  them  are  poisonous.  In  fact,  illness  due  to 
eating  infected  foods  is  much  more  common  than  is 
generally  supposed.  Often  there  is  only  one  case  in 
a  number  of  those  eating  the  food,  due  merely  to  that 
person's  inability  to  throw  off  the  poison.  Such 
cases  are  difficult  to  distinguish.  They  are  usually 
supposed  to  be  gastro-enteritis.  Ptomaines,  as  their 
name  shows,  are  found  in  dead  bodies.  They  are 
found  in  all  dead  matter  after  a  time,  whether  it  is 
decayed  food  or  a  decaying  corpse. 


The  Final  Day  371 

"No  general  reaction  is  known  by  which  the  pto- 
maines can  be  distinguished  from  the  vegetable  al- 
kaloids. But  we  know  that  animal  alkaloids  always 
develop  either  as  a  result  of  decay  of  food  or  of  the 
decay  of  the  body  itself." 

At  one  stroke  Kennedy  had  reopened  the  closed 
case  and  had  placed  the  experts  at  sea. 

"I  find  that  there  is  an  animal  conine  as  well  as 
the  true  conine,"  he  hammered  out.  "The  truth  of 
this  matter  is  that  the  experts  have  confounded  vege- 
table conine  with  cadaveric  conine.  That  raises  an 
interesting  question.  Assuming  the  presence  of  co- 
nine, where  did  it  come  from?" 

He  paused  and  began  a  new  line  of  attack.  "As 
the  use  of  canned  goods  becomes  more  and  more  ex- 
tensive, ptomaine  poisoning  is  more  frequent.  In 
canning,  the  cans  are  heated.  They  are  composed  of 
thin  sheets  of  iron  coated  with  tin,  the  seams  pressed 
and  soldered  with  a  thin  line  of  solder.  They  are 
filled  with  cooked  food,  sterilised,  and  closed.  The 
bacteria  are  usually  all  killed,  but  now  and  then,  the 
apparatus  does  not  work,  and  they  develop  in  the 
can.  That  results  in  a  'blown  can' — the  ends  bulge 
a  little  bit.  On  opening,  a  gas  escapes,  the  food  has 
a  bad  odour  and  a  bad  taste.  Sometimes  people  say 
that  the  tin  and  lead  poison  them;  in  practically  all 
cases  the  poisoning  is  of  bacterial,  not  metallic,  ori- 
gin. Mr.  Godwin  may  have  died  of  poisoning,  prob- 
ably did.  But  it  was  ptomaine  poisoning.  The 
blown  cans  which  I  have  discovered  would  indicate 
that." 

I    was    following   him    closely,    yet    though    this 


372  The  Dream  Doctor 

seemed  to  explain  a  part  of  the  case,  it  was  far  from 
explaining  all. 

"Then  followed,"  he  hurried  on,  "the  development 
of  the  usual  ptomaines  in  the  body  itself.  These,  I 
may  say,  had  no  relation  to  the  cause  of  death  itself. 
The  putrefactive  germs  began  their  attack.  What- 
ever there  may  have  been  in  the  body  before,  cer- 
tainly they  produced  a  cadaveric  ptomaine  conine. 
For  many  animal  tissues  and  fluids,  especially  if 
somewhat  decomposed,  yield  not  infrequently  com- 
pounds of  an  oily  nature  with  a  mousey  odour,  fum- 
ing with  hydrochloric  acid  and  in  short,  acting  just 
like  conine.  There  is  ample  evidence,  I  have  found, 
that  conine  or  a  substance  possessing  most,  if  not 
all,  of  its  properties  is  at  times  actually  produced  in 
animal  tissues  by  decomposition.  And  the  fact  is, 
I  believe,  that  a  number  of  cases  have  arisen,  in  which, 
the  poisonous  alkaloid  was  at  first  supposed  to  have 
been  discovered  which  were  really  mistakes." 

The  idea  was  startling  in  the  extreme.  Here  was 
Kennedy,  as  it  were,  overturning  what  had  been  con- 
sidered the  last  word  in  science  as  it  had  been  laid 
down  by  the  experts  for  the  prosecution,  opinions  so 
impregnable  that  courts  and  juries  had  not  hesitated 
to  condemn  a  man  to  death. 

"There  have  been  cases,"  Craig  went  on  solemnly, 
"and  I  believe  this  to  be  one,  where  death  has  been 
pronounced  to  have  been  caused  by  wilful  adminis- 
tration of  a  vegetable  alkaloid,  which  toxicologists 
would  now  put  down  as  ptomaine-poisoning  cases. 
Innocent  people  have  possibly  already  suffered  and 
may  in  the  future.  But  medical  experts — "  he  laid 


The  Final  Day  373 

especial  stress  on  the  word — "are  much  more  alive  to 
the  danger  of  mistake  than  formerly.  This  was  a 
case  where  the  danger  was  not  considered,  either 
through  carelessness,  ignorance,  or  prejudice. 

"Indeed,  ptomaines  are  present  probably  to  a 
greater  or  less  extent  in  every  organ  which  is  sub- 
mitted to  the  toxicologist  for  examination.  If  he  is 
ignorant  of  the  nature  of  these  substances,  he  may 
easily  mistake  them  for  vegetable  alkaloids.  He 
may  report  a  given  poison  present  when  it  is  not 
present.  It  is  even  yet  a  new  line  of  inquiry  which 
has  only  recently  been  followed,  and  the  information 
is  still  comparatively  small  and  inadequate. 

"It  is  very  difficult,  perhaps  impossible,  for  the 
chemist  to  state  absolutely  that  he  has  detected  true 
conine.  Before  he  can  do  it,  the  symptoms  and  the 
post-mortem  appearance  must  agree;  analysis  must 
be  made  before,  not  after,  decomposition  sets  in,  and 
the  amount  of  the  poison  found  must  be  sufficient  to 
experiment  with,  not  merely  to  react  to  a  few  usual 
tests. 

"What  the  experts  asserted  so  positively,  I  would 
not  dare  to  assert.  Was  he  killed  by  ordinary  pto- 
maine poisoning,  and  had  conine,  or  rather  its  double, 
developed  first  in  his  food  along  with  other  ptomaines 
that  were  not  inert?  Or  did  the  cadaveric  conine 
develop  only  in  the  body  after  death?  Chemistry 
alone  cad  not  decide  the  question  so  glibly  as  the  ex- 
perts did.  Further  proof  must  be  sought.  Other 
sciences  must  come  to  our  aid." 

I  was  sitting  next  to  Mrs.  Godwin.  As  Ken- 
nedy's words  rang  out,  her  hand,  trembling  with  emo- 


374  The  Dream  Doctor 

tion,  pressed  my  arm.  I  turned  quickly  to  see  if  she 
needed  assistance.  Her  face  was  radiant.  All  the; 
fees  for  big  cases  in  the  world  could  never  have  com- 
pensated Kennedy  for  the  mute,  unrestrained  grati- 
tude which  the  little  woman  shot  at  him. 

Kennedy  saw  it,  and  in  the  quick  shifting  of  his 
eyes  to  my  face,  I  read  that  he  relied  on  me  to  take 
care  of  Mrs.  Godwin  while  he  plunged  again  into  the 
clearing  up  of  the  mystery. 

"I  have  here  the  will — the  second  one,"  he  snapped 
out,  turning  and  facing  the  others  in  the  room. 

Craig  turned  a  switch  in  an  apparatus  which  his 
students  had  brought  from  New  York.  From  a  tube 
on  the  table  came  a  peculiar  bluish  light. 

"This,"  he  explained,  "is  a  source  of  ultraviolet 
rays.  They  are  not  the  bluish  light  which  you  see, 
but  rays  contained  in  it  which  you  can  not  see. 

"Ultraviolet  rays  have  recently  been  found  very 
valuable  in  the  examination  of  questioned  documents. 
By  the  use  of  a  lens  made  of  quartz  covered  with  a 
thin  film  of  metallic  silver,  there  has  been  developed 
a  practical  means  of  making  photographs  by  the  in- 
visible rays  of  light  above  the  spectrum — these  ultra- 
violet rays.  The  quartz  lens  is  necessary,  because 
these  rays  will  not  pass  through  ordinary  glass,  while 
the  silver  film  acts  as  a  screen  to  cut  off  the  ordinary 
light  rays  and  those  below  the  spectrum.  By  this 
means,  most  white  objects  are  photographed  black 
and  even  transparent  objects  like  glass  are  black. 

"I  obtained  the  copy  of  this  will,  but  under  the 
condition  from  the  surrogate  that  absolutely  nothing 
must  be  done  to  it  to  change  a  fibre  of  the  paper  or 


The  Final  Day  375 

a  line  of  a  letter.  It  was  a  difficult  condition.  While 
there  are  chemicals  which  are  frequently  resorted  to 
for  testing  the  authenticity  of  disputed  decuments 
such  as  wills  and  deeds,  their  use  frequently  injures 
or  destroys  the  paper  under  test.  So  far  as  I  could 
determine,  the  document  also  defied  the  microscope. 

"But  ultraviolet  photography  does  not  affect 
the  document  tested  in  any  way,  and  it  has  lately 
been  used  practically  in  detecting  forgeries.  I  have 
photographed  the  last  page  of  the  will  with  its  sig- 
natures, and  here  it  is.  What  the  eye  itself  can  not 
see,  the  invisible  light  reveals." 

He  was  holding  the  document  and  the  copy,  just 
an  instant,  as  if  considering  how  to  announce  with 
best  effect  what  he  had  discovered. 

"In  order  to  unravel  this  mystery,"  he  resumed, 
looking  up  and  facing  the  Elmores,  Kilgore,  and  Hol- 
lins  squarely,  "I  decided  to  find  out  whether  any  one 
had  had  access  to  that  closet  where  the  will  was  hid- 
den. It  was  long  ago,  and  there  seemed  to  be  little 
that  I  could  do.  I  knew  it  was  useless  to  look  for 
finger-prints. 

"So  I  used  what  we  detectives  now  call  the  law 
of  suggestion.  I  questioned  closely  one  who  was  in 
touch  with  all  those  who  might  have  had  such  access. 
I  hinted  broadly  at  seeking  finger-prints  which  might 
lead  to  the  identity  of  one  who  had  entered  the  house 
unknown  to  the  Godwins,  and  placed  a  document 
where  private  detectives  would  subsequently  find  it 
under  suspicious  circumstances. 

"Naturally,  it  would  seem  to  one  who  was  guilty 
of  such  an  act,  or  knew  of  it,  that  there  might,  after 


376  The  Dream  Doctor 

all,  be  finger-prints.  I  tried  it.  I  found  out  through 
this  little  tube,  the  detectascope,  that  one  really  en- 
tered the  room,  after  that,  and  tried  to  wipe  off  any 
supposed  finger-prints  that  might  still  remain.  That 
settled  it.  The  second  will  was  a  forgery,  and  the 
person  who  entered  that  room  so  stealthily  this  after- 
noon knows  that  it  is  a  forgery." 

As  Kennedy  slapped  down  on  the  table  the  film 
from  his  camera,  which  had  been  concealed,  Mrs.  God- 
win turned  her  now  large  and  unnaturally  bright 
eyes  and  met  those  of  the  other  woman  in  the  room. 

"Oh — oh — heaven  help  us — me,  I  mean!"  cried 
Miriam,  unable  to  bear  the  strain  of  the  turn  of  events 
longer.  "I  knew  there  would  be  retribution — I  knew 
— I  knew — " 

Mrs.  Godwin  was  on  her  feet  in  a  moment. 

"Once  my  intuition  was  not  wrong  though  all  sci- 
ence and  law  was  against  me,"  she  pleaded  with  Ken- 
nedy. There  was  a  gentleness  in  her  tone  that  fell 
like  a  soft  rain  on  the  surging  passions  of  those  who 
had  wronged  her  so  shamefully.  "Professor  Ken- 
nedy, Miriam  could  not  have  forged — " 

Kennedy  smiled.  "Science  was  not  against  you, 
Mrs.  Godwin.  Ignorance  was  against  you.  And 
your  intuition  does  not  go  contrary  to  science  this 
time,  either." 

It  was  a  splendid  exhibition  of  fine  feeling  which 
Kennedy  waited  to  have  impressed  on  the  Elmores, 
as  though  burning  it  into  their  minds. 

"Miriam  Elmore  knew  that  her  brothers  had  forged 
a  will  and  hidden  it.  To  expose  them  was  to  con- 
vict them  of  a  crime.  She  kept  their  secret,  which 


The  Final  Day  377 

vras  the  secret  of  all  three.  She  even  tried  to  hide 
the  finger-prints  which  would  have  branded  her 
brothers. 

"For  ptomaine  poisoning  had  unexpectedly  has- 
tened the  end  of  old  Mr.  Godwin.  Then  gossip  and 
the  "scientists'  did  the  rest.  It  was  accidental,  but 
Bradford  and  Lambert  Elmore  were  willing  to  let 
events  take  their  course  and  declare  genuine  the 
forgery  which  they  had  made  so  skilfully,  even  though 
it  convicted  an  innocent  man  of  murder  and  killed 
his  faithful  wife.  As  soon  as  the  courts  can  be  set 
in  motion  to  correct  an  error  of  science  by  the  truth 
of  later  science,  Sing  Sing  will  lose  one  prisoner  from 
the  death  house  and  gain  two  forgers  in  his  place." 

Mrs.  Godwin  stood  before  us,  radiant.  But  as 
Kennedy's  last  words  sank  into  her  mind,  her  face 
clouded. 

"Must — must  it  be  an  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth 
for  a  tooth?"  she  pleaded  eagerly.  "Must  that  grim 
prison  take  in  others,  even  if  my  husband  goes  free?" 

Kennedy  looked  at  her  long  and  earnestly,  as  if 
to  let  the  beauty  of  her  character,  trained  by  its  long 
suffering,  impress  itself  on  his  mind  indelibly. 

He  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"I'm  afraid  there  is  no  other  way,  Mrs.  Godwin," 
he  said  gently  taking  her  arm  and  leaving  the  others 
to  be  dealt  with  by  a  constable  whom  he  had  dozing 
in  the  hotel  lobby. 

"Kahn  is  going  up  to  Albany  to  get  the  pardon — 
there  can  be  no  doubt  about  it  now,"  he  added.  "Mrs. 
Godwin,  if  you  care  to  do  so,  you  may  stay  here  at 
the  hotel,  or  you  may  go  down  with  us  on  the  mid- 


378  The  Dream  Doctor 

night  train  as  far  as  Ossining.  I  will  wire  ahead 
for  a  conveyance  to  meet  you  at  the  station.  Mr. 
Jameson  and  I  must  go  on  to  New  York." 

"The  nearer  I  am  to  Sanford  now,  the  happier  I 
shall  be,"  she  answered,  bravely  keeping  back  the 
tears  of  happiness. 

The  ride  down  to  New  York,  after  our  train  left  Os- 
sining, was  accomplished  in  a  day  coach  in  which  our 
fellow  passengers  slept  in  every  conceivable  attitude 
of  discomfort. 

Yet  late,  or  rather  early,  as  it  was,  we  found  plenty 
of  life  still  in  the  great  city  that  never  sleeps.  Tired, 
exhausted,  I  was  at  least  glad  to  feel  that  finally  we 
were  at  home. 

"Craig,"  I  yawned,  as  I  began  to  throw  off  my 
clothes,  "I'm  ready  to  sleep  a  week." 

There  was  no  answer. 

I  looked  up  at  him  almost  resentfully.  He  had 
picked  up  the  mail  that  lay  under  our  letter  slot  and 
was  going  through  it  as  eagerly  as  if  the  clock  regis- 
tered P.  M.  instead  of  A.  M. 

"Let  me  see,"  I  mumbled  sleepily,  checking  over 
my  notes,  "how  many  days  have  we  been  at  it?" 

I  turned  the  pages  slowly,  after  the  manner  in 
which  my  mind  was  working. 

"It  was  the  twenty-sixth  when  you  got  that  let- 
ter from.  Ossining,"  I  calculated,  "and  to-day  makes 
the  thirtieth.  My  heavens — is  there  still  another  day 
of  it?  Is  there  no  rest  for  the  wicked?" 

Kennedy  looked  up  and  laughed. 

He  was  pointing  at  the  calendar  on  the  desk  be- 
fore him. 


The  Final  Day  379 

"There  are  only  thirty  days  in  the  month,"  he  re- 
marked slowly. 

"Thank  the  Lord,"  I  exclaimed.     "I'm  all  in !" 

He  tipped  his  desk-chair  back  and  bit  the  amber  of 
his  meerchaum  contemplatively. 

"But  to-day  is  the  first,"  he  drawled,  turning  the 
leaf  on  the  calendar  with  just  a  flicker  of  a  smile. 


THE  END 


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